THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 
RIVERSIDE 


^^...^.^  ^'^  y.  ^F^^^^^M-^^ 


^ 


^  /  J? 


.  -i^S^k  .19(B 


AUGUST   STRINDBERG 


COURTESY  OF  FREDERICK    KEPPEL&CO 


EASTER 

(A  Play  in  Three  Acts) 
AND  STORIES 


FROM  THE  SWEDISH  OF 

AUGUST  STRINDBERG 

AUTHOR    OF    "lucky    PEHR,"    ETC. 


TRANSLATED  BY 

VELMA  SWANSTON  HOWARD 


CINCINNATI 
STEWART  &  KIDD  COMPANY 

1912 


Copyright  1912 

STEWART  &  KIDD  COMPANY 

Entered  at  Stationers'  Hall,  London,  England 


All  rights  reserved 


August  ^trindberg 

^.V"  Ate  1*10%^ 


Facsimile  of  a  letter  from  Herr  Strindberg,  authorizing 
Mrs.  Howard  to  make  these  translations 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Eastee 3 

]\IlDSUMMERTIDE 143 

The  Stone  IVIan 165 

Half  a  Sheet  op  Paper 183 

The  Sleepy-head 189 

Secrets  of  the  Tobacco  Shed  ....         .  203 

The  Big  GRA^^EL  Screen 215 

Photography  and  Philosophy 227 

JuBAL    SANS    Ego 235 

Blue  Wing  Finds  the  Gold  Powder       .      .      .  251 


EASTER 


CHARACTERS. 

Fru  Heyst. 

Elis,  her  son.     A  bachelor  of  Arts 
and  Instructor. 

Eleonora,  her  Daughter. 

Christina,  Elis'  Betrothed. 

Benjamin,  Pupil  at  Classical  High 
School. 

LiNDQUiST,  A  Creditor. 


ACT  ONE. 


AFTERNOON  OF  HOLY  THURSDAY. 

Music  played  before  rise  of  curtain:  '^Sie- 
ben  Worte  des  Erlosers"  (Seven  Last  Words 
from  the  Cross),  Haydn. 

Introduction:    Maestoso  Adagio. 


Scene  :  An  enclosed  veranda,  entirely  glass  at 
the  hack,  fitted  up  as  a  living  room.  At  cen- 
tre is  a  large  door  leading  to  a  small  garden 
with  a  picket  fence  and  a  gate  opening  on  to 
the  street.  The  door  and  windows  at  the 
hack  are  hung  with  yellow  flowered  chintz 
curtains,  which  can  he  drawn.  A  small  mir- 
ror hangs  on  window-frame  at  left  of  centre 
door;  helow  it  a  date  calendar.  At  right  is  a 
door  leading  to  the  kitchen;  at  left  a  door 
leading  to  other  rooms.  Up  right  centre  is 
a  ivriting  tahle  on  ivhich  are  hooks,  writing 
materials  and  a  telephone.  Down  at  right  is 
a  sewing  tahle  with  a  lamp  and  two  easy 
chairs.  At  the  left,  ahove  the  door,  is  a  side- 
board and  a  parlor  stove;  a  dining  tahle  with 
chairs  at  left  centre.  From  the  ceiling  hangs 
a  lamp.  From  the  windows  is  seen  a  view 
of  the  street,  and  a  house  on  the  hill  sur- 
rounded hy  a  garden  which  slopes  toward  the 
city;  at  hack  of  garden  are  seen  tree-tops  in 
spring  hloom.  A  church  spire  looms  ahove 
the  trees.  A  street  lamp  with  incandescent 
hurners  is  opposite  the  gate. 

Time  :     The  present. 


EASTER 

[A  sunbeam  falls  obliquely  across  room, 
from  left  to  right,  touching  one  of  the  chairs 
at  seiving  table.  On  the  other  chair,  ivhich  is 
in  shadoiv,  Christina  is  seated.  She  is  run- 
ning a  tape  through  a  pair  of  newly  laundered 
draiu-curtains.  Elis  comes  in  with  overcoat 
unbuttoned  and  carrying  a  large  bundle  of 
documents,  which  he  lays  upon  the  writing 
table.'] 

Elis. 
Good  afternoon,  my  friend. 

Chkistina. 
Good  day,  Elis. 

Elis. 
[Glancing  around.]  Storm-windows  out — 
floor  scoured — clean  curtains.  Yes,  spring  is 
here  again!  They  have  chopped  up  the  ice- 
pavement,  and  the  sallow  down  by  the  river  is 
in  bloom.  Yes,  it  is  spring  now,  and  I  can  hang 
up  my  winter   coat.     Do  you  know,  it  is   as 

3 


EASTER  AND  STORIES 


heavy  [^weighing  it  in  his  hand]  as  if  it  had 
absorbed  all  the  winter's  hardships — the 
sweat  of  anguish  and  the  dust  of  the  school- 
room— Ah!     [He  Jiangs  up  coat  on  wall,  left.] 

Christina. 
And  now  you  are  having  a  holiday. 

Elis. 
Easter  Holiday:  Five  glorious  days  in 
which  to  revel — to  breathe — to  forget!  See, 
the  sun  has  come  back!  It  went  away  in  No- 
vember— I  remember  the  day  it  disappeared 
back  of  the  brewery,  opposite.  Oh,  this  winter 
— this  long  winter! 

Cheistina. 
[With     a     motion     toward    kitchen    door.] 
Softly,  softly! 

Elis. 
I'll  be  quiet,  and  I  ought  to  be  glad  that  it  is 
over.  Oh,  the  good  sun !  [Rubbing  his  hands 
as  if  laving  them.]  I  want  to  bathe  in  sun- 
shine— wash  myself  in  light,  after  all  this  black 
filth! 

4 


EASTER 


Chbistina. 
Softly,  softly! 

Elis. 

Do  you  know,  I  believe  that  peace  is  return- 
ing and  that  the  misfortunes  have  exhausted 
themselves — 

Cheistina. 
What  makes  you  think  so? 

Elis. 

Because — when  I  passed  by  the  Cathedral,  a 
while  ago,  a  white  dove  came  circling  down; 
she  lit  on  the  pavement  and  dropped  a  branch 
she  carried  in  her  bill,  right  at  my  feet. 

Christina. 
Did  you  observe  what  kind  of  branch  it  was  ? 

Elis. 

Olive  it  could  hardly  have  been;  but  I  think 
it  was  an  emblem  of  peace,  and  just  now  I  feel 
a  blissful,  sunny  calm — Where's  mother? 


EASTEE  AND  STOEIES 


Christina. 

[With  a  glance  toward  kitchen  door.]  In  the 
kitchen. 

Elis. 

[Closing  his  eyes  and  speaking  in  hushed 
tones].  I  can  hear  that  it  is  spring.  Do  you 
know  how  I  can  tell!  Mostly  by  the  axles  on 
the  wagon  wheels — ^l3nt  what  have  we  here? 
The  bullfinch  is  singing,  the  hammers  are  sound- 
ing on  the  wharf,  and  I  smell  the  fresh  paint 
from  the  steamboats — 

Cheistina. 
Can  you  sense  it  all  the  way  here  ? 

Elis. 

Here? — True,  we  are  here;  but  I  was  there — 
up  there  in  the  North,  where  our  home  lies. 
How  did  I  ever  come  to  this  dreadful  city, 
where  all  the  people  hate  one  another,  and 
where  one  is  always  alone?  It  was  the  bread 
that  drew  us.  But,  beside  the  bread  lay  the 
misfortunes— father's  crooked  dealings  and  lit- 
tle sister's  illness.     Tell  me — do  you  know  if 

6 


EASTER 


mother  has  been  permitted  to  visit  father  in 
prison? 

Christina. 
I  think  she  has  been  there  even  to-day. 

Elis. 
What  did  she  say? 

Christina. 
Nothing.     She  talked  of  other  matters. 

Elis. 

Yet  one  thing  is  settled :  After  the  trial  came 
certainty,  and  a  singular  calm — when  the  news- 
papers had  finished  with  their  reports  of  the 
proceedings.  One  year  has  gone  by;  in  one 
year  he'll  be  out,  and  then  we  can  begin  all 
over ! 

Christina. 
I  admire  your  patience  in  tribulation. 

Elis. 

Don't !  Admire  nothing  in  me,  for  I  possess 
only  faults.  Now  you  know  it — if  you  would 
only  believe  it! 

7 


EASTER.  AND  STORIES 


Christina. 

If  you  suffered  for  your  own  failings,  yes; 
but  you  suffer  for  the  mistakes  of  others. 

Elis. 
What  are  you  sewing  upon? 

Christina. 
The  kitchen  draw-curtains,  dearie. 

Elis. 

Looks  like  a  bridal  veil.  In  the  autumn 
you  are  to  be  my  bride,  Christina.  True,  is  it 
not? 

Christina. 

Yes ;  but  first,  let  us  think  of  the  summer. 

Elis. 

Yes,  summer!  [Taking  out  a  check  hook.] 
You  see  that  the  money  is  already  in  bank, 
^^en  school  closes,  we  shall  go  North  to  our 
own  province — to  Miilaren!  The  cottage 
stands  there,  ready— as  it  stood  in  our  child- 
hood; the  lindens  are  still  there;  the  punt  lies 
under  the  willow  down  by  the  river.     Oh,  that 

8 


EASTER 


it  were  summer,  so  I  could  bathe  in  the  sea! 
This  family  dishonor  has  submerged  me,  body 
and  soul,  and  I  long  for  a  sea  to  cleanse  me ! 

Christina. 

Have  you  heard  anything  from  sister 
Eleonora? 

Elis. 

Yes.  She  is  restless,  poor  child,  and  writes 
letters  that  wring  my  heart.  She  wants  to 
come  home,  naturally,  but  the  superintendent 
of  the  Asylum  is  afraid  to  let  her  go,  for  she 
does  things  which  lead  to  prison.  I  feel  con- 
science-stricken at  times  because  I  voted  for 
her  commitment. 

Christina. 

My  dear  friend,  you  assume  the  blame  for 
everything.  But  in  this  instance,  it  has  surely 
been  a  mercy  that  she  was  cared  for,  poor  un- 
happy child ! 

Elis. 

What  you  say  is  true,  and  things  seem  best 
as  they  are.     She  is  as  comfortable  as  can  be. 

9 


EASTEE  AND  STOKIES 


When  I  think  of  how  she  went  about  here,  cast- 
ing a  shadow  over  every  semblance  of  pleasure ; 
of  how  her  fate  depressed  us,  like  a  nightmare — 
tortured  us  to  despair — I  am  selfish  enough  to 
feel  a  certain  relief,  akin  to  joy.  And  the  great- 
est misfortune  I  can  imagine  at  this  moment 
would  be  to  see  her  step  inside  these  doors. 
Just  that  contem]3tible  am  I ! 

Christina. 
Just  that  human  are  you. 

Elis. 

I  suffer  all  the  same  at  the  thought  of  her 
distress,  and  father's. 

Christina. 
Some  persons  seem  to  be  born  for  suffering — 

Elis. 

Poor  you,  who   happened  into   this   family, 
doomed  from  the  start — and  damned ! 

Christina. 

Elis,  you  do  not  know  whether  these  are  trials 
or  chastisements. 

10 


EASTER 

Elis. 

A^Tiat  they  are  for  you,  I  know  not.  Surely 
3'ou  are  not  accountable  to  any  one  but  your- 
self. 

Christhsta. 

Tears  in  the  morning,  joy  in  the  evening — 
Elis,  perhaps  I  can  help  you — 

Elis. 
Do  you  know  if  mother  has  a  white  muffler? 

Christina, 
[Uneasy.]     Are  you  going  somewhere? 

Elis. 

I'm  going  to  dine  out.  Peter,  as  you  know, 
gave  a  disputation  yesterday,  and  to-day  he 
gives  a  dinner. 

Christina. 

Would  you  go  to  that  dinner? 

Elis. 

You  mean  that  I  should  stay  away  because  he 
proved  to  be  a  very  ungrateful  pupil. 

11 


EASTER  AND  STORIES 


Cheistina. 

I  cannot  deny  that  his  disloyalty  shocked  me ; 
after  promising  to  quote  your  thesis,  he  ap- 
propriated it  without  mentioning  the  source — 

Elis. 

Alas !  that  is  so  common ;  but  I  am  happy  in 
the  consciousness  that  "this  have  I  done." 

Christina. 
Has  he  invited  you? 

Elis. 

Come  to  think  of  it,  no!  It's  rather  strange, 
considering  that  he  has  gone  about  and  talked 
of  this  dinner  for  several  years,  as  though  my 
presence  was  a  foregone  conclusion.  If  I  am 
not  invited  now,  it  is  an  intentional  affront. 
Wliat  matter!  This  is  not  the  first  time — nor 
yet  the  last! 

[Pause.'\ 

Christina. 

Benjamin  is  late.  Do  you  think  he  will  pass 
his  examination? 

12 


EASTER 


Elis. 

I  certainly  hope  so! — In  Latin,  surely,  witli 
honors. 

Chkistina. 

Fine  boy,  Benjamin ! 

Elis. 

Uncommonly  so,  but  something  of  a  dreamer. 
You  know,  of  course,  why  he  is  here  with  us? 

Christina. 
It  is  because — 

Elis. 

Because  my  father  embezzled  his  funds  in 
equity — like  those  of  so  many  others.  You  see, 
Christina,  this  is  the  terrible  part  of  it:  At 
school  I  have  to  face  all  these  poor,  defrauded, 
fatherless  lads  who  must  suffer  the  humiliation 
of  being  charity  pupils ;  and  the  light  in  which 
they  regard  me,  you  can  imagine.  I  must  con- 
tinually think  of  their  misery  in  order  to  par- 
don their  cruelty^ 


13 


EASTER  AND  STOEIES 


Christina. 

I  believe  your  father  is  much  better  off  than 
you. 

Elis. 
Much! 

Christina. 

Elis,  we  should  think  of  the  summer  and  not 
of  the  past. 

Elis. 

Yes,  of  the  summer! — Do  you  know,  I  was 
awakened  last  night  by  the  students'  singing. 
They  sang:  ''Yes,  I'm  coming!  Happy 
winds,  take  my  greetings  to  the  country.  To 
the  birds  say,  that  I  love  them;  to  birch  and 
linden,  lake  and  mountain,  say  that  I  would  see 
them  once  again — see  them  now  as  in  my  child- 
hood!" [Rising.']  Shall  I  ever  see  them 
again?  Shall  I  ever  get  away  from  this  dread- 
ful city— from  Mount  Ebal,  the  accursed,  and 
once  more  behold  Gerizim?  [Seats  himself  by 
the  door.] 


14 


EASTER 


Christina. 
Yes,  yes,  you  shall! 

Elis. 

But  tMnk  you  that  I  shall  see  my  birches  and 
lindens  as  I  saw  them  before?  Think  you  not 
that  the  same  black  pall  will  spread  over  them 
that  has  veiled  the  landscape  and  the  life  down 
here  ever  since  that  day? — [Pointing  to  chair, 
luhich  is  now  in  shadow.^  You  see,  the  sun  has 
gone  away ! 

Christina. 
It  will  come  back — only  to  stay  the  longer. 

Elis. 

True ;  the  days  are  lengthening  and  the  shad- 
ows shortening. 

Christina. 

We  are  going  toward  the  light,  Elis,  believe 
me. 

Elis. 

Sometimes  I  think  so,  and  when  I  think  of  the 
past  and  compare  it  with  the  present,  I  feel 

15 


EASTER  AND  STORIES 


happy.  This  time  last  year  you  were  not  sit- 
ting here,  for  then  you  had  gone  from  me,  and 
had  broken  our  engagement.  Do  you  know  that 
that  was  the  darkest  shadow  of  all.  I  literally 
died,  inch  by  inch ;  but  when  you  came  again — 
I  lived !    Do  you  remember  why  you  went? 

Christina. 

No,  I  do  not;  and  it  occurs  to  me  now  that 
there  was  no  reason  for  it.  I  felt  an  irresisti- 
ble impulse  to  go,  so  I  went— as  in  a  dream. 
When  I  saw  you  again,  I  awoke,  and  was  happy. 

Elis. 

And  now  we  must  never  be  parted ;  for  if  you 
were  to  go  from  me  now,  I  should  die  in  ear- 
nest !  Mother  is  coming — say  nothing.  Shield 
her  in  her  world  of  illusions,  where  she  lives 
fancying  father  a  martyr  and  all  his  victims 
scoundrels. 

[Fru  Eeyst  comes  on  from  kitchen,  ivearing 
a  kitchen  apron  and  paring  an  apple.  She 
speaks  pleasantly  and  somewhat  artlessly.] 


16 


EASTER 


Fru  Heyst. 

Good  afternoon,  children.  How  will  you 
have  your  apple  soup — hot  or  cold? 

Elis. 
Cold,  little  mother. 

Fru  Heyst. 

That's  right,  my  boy!  You  always  know 
what  you  want,  and  speak  up;  but  Christina 
doesn't.  This  Elis  learned  from  his  father. 
He  always  knew  what  he  wanted  and  what  he 
was  about — and  that  folks  can't  tolerate. 
Therefore  it  turned  out  badly  for  him.  But  his 
day  is  coming;  then  he'll  get  justice  and  the 
others  will  get  their  deserts ! — Wait — what  was 
I  going  to  tell  you — 1  Oh,  yes — do  you  know 
that  Lindquist  has  moved  to  town? — Lindquist 
— the  biggest  scoundrel  of  them  all ! 

Elis. 
[Agitated,  rises.'\     Is  he  here? 

Fru  Heyst. 

Yes ;  he  lives  across  the  way. 
17 


EASTER  AND  STORIES 


Elis. 
Then  one  must  see  liim  pass  by  every  day — 
This  too ! 

Feu  Hbyst. 
Only  let  me  talk  to  him  once,  and  he  will  never 
come  again,  or  show  his  face !     I  know  his  little 
peculiarities.    Well,  Elis,  how  did  Peter  get 
on? 

Elis. 
Very  well. 

Fru  Heyst. 
I  can  readily   believe   that.     When  do   you 
think  of  debating? 

Elis. 
When  I  can  afford  to,  mother. 

Fru  Heyst. 
When  you  can  afford  to?     But  that's  no  an- 
swer!    And  Benjamin — has  he  passed  his  ex- 
amination ? 

Elis. 
We  don't  Imow  as  yet,  but  he  will  be  here 
shortly. 

18 


EASTER 


Feu  Heyst. 

I  don't  quite  like  Benjamin,  for  he  goes  about 
with  an  air — as  though  he  had  rights ;  but  we  '11 
cure  him  of  that.  A  good  boy,  all  the  same — 
Oh,  by  the  by,  there's  a  parcel  for  you,  Elis. 
[Steps  into  kitchen  and  returns  promptly  with 
parcel.] 

Elis. 

Fancy,  how  well  mother  keeps  track  of  every- 
thing, and  knows  what  is  going  on !  Sometimes 
I  think  she  is  not  as  artless  as  she  pretends  to 
be. 

Feu  Heyst. 

Here  is  the  parcel.    Lina  took  it  in. 

Elis. 

A  gift!  I'm  afraid  of  gifts  since  I  received 
that  box  of  cobble  stones — [He  lays  parcel  on 
table.] 

Feu  Heyst. 

Now  I'm  going  back  into  the  kitchen.  Won't 
it  be  too  cold  with  the  door  open? 


19 


EASTEB  AND  STORIES 


Elis. 
Not  at  all,  mother. 

Fru  Heyst. 

You  mustn't  hang  your  overcoat  there,  Elis; 
it  looks  so  untidy!  Well,  Christina,  will  my 
draw-curtains  be  ready  soon? 

Christina. 
In  a  few  minutes,  mother. 

Fru  Heyst. 

Yes,  I  do  like  that  boy,  Peter ;  he  is  my  favor- 
ite !    Aren  't  you  going  to  the  dinner,  Elis  ? 

Elis. 
Why,  to  be  sure  I  am! 

Fru  Heyst. 

Then  why  should  you  go  and  say  that  you 
wanted  your  apple  soup  cold,  when  you  are  to 
dine  out?  There's  nothing  determined  about 
you,  Elis ;  but  there  is  about  Peter.  Now,  close 
the  doors  if  it  grows  chilly,  so  you  won't  catch 
cold. 

20 


EASTER 

Elis. 

Good  old  soul! — And  it's  always  Peter — Is  it 
her  meaning  to  tease  you  about  Peter? 

Chkistina. 

Me? 

Elis. 

You  know,  of  course,  that  old  ladies  are  up 
to  such  games — ^whims  and  fancies  only. 

Cheistina. 
What  kind  of  gift  did  you  receive  ? 

Elis. 
[Tearing  off  paper.]     A  birch  branch. 

Chkistina. 

From  whom? 

Elis. 

Giver  anonymous — No,  the  birch  is  innocent 
enough,  and  I  shall  put  it  in  water  so  that  it 
will  blossom,  like  Aaron's  rod.  Birch — as  in 
my  childhood — So  Lindquist  is  here. 

21 


EASTEPt  AND  STORIES 


Christina. 
AYhat  about  him? 

Elis. 
Our  heaviest  debt  is  to  him. 

Christina. 
But  you  don't  owe  him  anything? 

Elis. 

Yes,  we  do — one  for  all  and  all  for  one;  the 
family  name  is  dishonored  so  long  as  there  is 
debt. 

Christina. 
Change  names. 

Elis. 
Christina ! 

Christina. 

[Lays  doivn  work,  which  is  finished.'] 
Thanks,  Elis !    I  only  wished  to  try  you. 

Elis. 

But  you  mustn't  tempt  me! — Lindquist  is  a 
poor  man  and  needs  his  money.    Wherever  my 

22 


EASTER 

father  has  been,  it  is  like  a  battle  field,  with 
dead  and  wounded ;  and  mother  believes  that  he 
is  the  victim! — Don't  you  want  to  go  for  a 
stroll? 

Christina. 
And  look  for  the  sun! — Gladly! 

Elis. 

Can  you  understand  this :  The  Redeemer 
suffered  for  our  iniquities,  yet  we  continue  to 
pay?     No  one  pays  for  me. 

Christina. 

But  if  someone  paid  for  you,  would  you  un- 
derstand then? 

Elis. 

Yes,  then  I  should  understand.  Hush !  Here 
comes  Benjamin.  Can  you  see  if  he  looks 
happy  ? 

Christina. 

He  walks  so  slowly — now  he  stops  at  the 
fountain — and  washes  his  eyes — 

23 


EASTEE  AND  STORIES 


Even  this — ! 
Wait  a  bit- 
Tears,  tears ! 


Elis. 

Chkistina. 

Elis. 


Christina. 

Patience ! 

[Enter  Benjamin.  He  is  gentle  and  respect- 
ful, hut  looks  disheartened.  He  carries  a  few 
hooks  and  a  portfolio.] 

Elis. 
How  did  it  go  with  your  Latin? 

Benjamin. 
Badly ! 

Elis. 

May  I  see  your  examination  papers?  What 
have  you  done? 

Benjamin. 

I  dashed  of£  the  indicative,  although  I  knew  it 
should  have  been  the  conjunctive — 

24 


EASTER 


Elis. 
Then  you  are  lost !    But  liow  could  you? 

Benjamin. 

I  can't  explain  it.  I  knew  bow  it  ought  to  be, 
wanted  to  do  the  right  thing,  and  did  the  wrong 
thing.     [Dejected,  he  sits  down  at  table.] 

Elis. 

[Drops  into  chair  at  writing  table  and  reads 
in  Benjamin's  portfolio.']  Yes,  here  you  have 
the  indicative. — Ye  gods ! 

Cheistina. 

[Forced.]  Better  luck  next  time!  Life  is 
long — terribly  long! 

Benjamin. 
It  is  that ! 

Elis. 

[Mournfully,  hut  tvithout  hitterness.]  And 
it  must  all  come  upon  you  at  once.  You  were 
my  best  pupil,  so  what  can  I  expect  from  the 
others'?  My  standing  as  tutor  goes  for  naught, 
and  I  shall  have  no  more  classes.     Thus  every- 

25 


EASTER  AND  STORIES 


thing   falls   through.     [To   Benjamin.]     Don't 
be  so  cut  up;  it's  not  your  fault. 

Christina. 
Elis,  courage,  courage,  for  pity's  sake! 

Elis. 
Where  shall  I  find  it? 

Christina. 
Where  you  found  it  before. 

Elis. 

It's  not  the  same  now.  I  seem  to  be  in  dis- 
grace— 

Christina. 

It  is  a  grace  to  suffer  without  blame.  Don't 
let  impatience  delude  you.  Stand  the  test ;  for 
it  is  only  a  test — I  feel  it  so. 

Elis. 

Can  a  year  for  Benjamin  become  shorter  than 
three  hundred  and  sixtj^-five  days! 

Christina. 

Yes ;  for  a  cheerful  mind  shortens  time. 
26 


EASTPJR 


Elis. 
[Laughing.]     Blow  on  the  wound  and  it  will 
heal  up,  we  say  to  children. 

Christina. 
Be  a  child,  then,  and  I'll  say  it.     Think  of 
mother — how  well  she  bears  everything. 

Elis. 
Give  me  your  hand,  I'm  sinking!     [Christina 
extends  hand.]     Your  hand  trembles — 

Christina. 
No,  I  can't  feel  that  it  does. 

Elis. 

You  are  not  the  strong  woman  you  appear  to 
be. 

Christina. 

I  feel  no  weakness — 

Elis. 
Then  why  can't  you  give  me  a  little  strength? 

Christina. 

I  have  none  to  spare. 
27 


EASTER  AND  STORIES 


Elis. 

{Looking  out  through  the  window.']  Do  you 
know  who  is  coming  this  way? 

Chkistina. 

[Glances  through  window,  then  drops  to 
knees,  crushed.]     This  is  too  much! 

Elis. 

The  creditor — he  who  can  seize  our  effects 
at  any  time — Lindquist,  who  came  here  that  he 
might  sit,  like  the  spider  in  the  centre  of  the 
web,  to  watch  the  flies — 

Christina. 
Fly! 

Elis. 

No,  I  shall  not  fly. — Now,  when  you  are  weak, 
I  am  strong.  He  is  coming  up  the  street  and 
his  cruel  eyes  have  already  sighted  the  prey. 

Christina. 
Step  aside  at  least! 


28 


EASTER 

Elis. 

No;  now  lie  amuses  me. — He  appears  to 
brighten,  as  though  he  saw  the  game  in  the  trap. 
— Come  along,  you! — He  is  counting  the  steps 
to  the  gate  and  sees  by  the  open  door  that  we 
are  at  home.  He  meets  someone  and  stops  to 
chatter. — He  is  talking  about  us,  for  he  looks 
this  way — 

Christina. 

Just  so  he  doesn't  meet  mother  here,  for  with 
a  hasty  word  she  might  make  him  relentless. — 
Prevent  it,  Elis! 

Elis. 

Now  he  shakes  his  cane,  as  if  protesting  that 
here  at  least  mercy  shall  not  come  before  jus- 
tice.— He  buttons  his  overcoat  to  show  that 
as  yet  we  have  not  stripped  the  clothes  off 
his  body — I  can  tell  b}^  the  movement  of  his  lips 
what  he  is  saying.  What  shall  I  answer  him — 
' '  My  lord,  you  are  right,  take  all,  it  belongs  to 
you!" 

Cheistina, 

That  is  the  only  thing  to  be  said. 
29 


EASTEE  AND  STOEIES 


Elis. 

Now  lie  laughs,  but  good-naturedly — not 
wickedly.  Perhaps  he's  not  so  bad  after  all, 
although  he  wants  his  money.  If  he  would  only 
come  now  and  stop  his  infernal  chatter! — The 
cane  is  in  motion  again — they  always  have 
canes — these  persons  with  outstanding  debts — 
and  leather-galoshes  that  say  ''vitch,  vitch," 
like  whips  in  the  air.  [He  presses  Christina's 
hand  to  his  heart.]  Do  you  feel  how  my  heart 
beats?  I  hear  it  myself,  in  the  right  ear,  like 
the  thump,  thump  of  a  propeller  on  an  ocean 
liner. — Ah,  now  he  has  said  farewell ! — and  now 
for  the  galoshes :  "Vitch,  vitch,"  like  the  Easter 
birch  rod. — He  wears  watch  charms. — Then  he 
can't  be  so  poverty-stricken.  They  always 
wear  charms  of  carbuncle,  like  old  flesh  carved 
from  their  neighbor's  back. — Plark,  the  ga- 
loshes I  "Vipers,  vipers,  vitch!"  Look  out! 
— He  sees  me — [hotving  toward  street].  He 
nods  first — and  smiles ;  he  waves  his  hand — and 
— and — [sinks  doivn  at  ivriting  table  and 
weeps].     He  passed  by! 


30 


EASTER 


Christina. 
God  be  praised ! 

Elis. 

[Rising.]  He  passed  by — but  he'll  come 
back. — Let  us  go  out  into  the  sunshine. 

Christina. 
And  the  dinner  with  Peter? 

Elis. 

As  I'm  not  invited,  I'll  keep  aloof.  For  that 
matter,  why  should  I  break  in  upon  the  merri- 
ment? To  meet  a  faithless  friend? — I  should 
only  suffer  for  his  behavior  so  that  I  could  not 
feel  offended  by  mine  own. 

Christina. 
Thank  you  for  staying  with  us. 

Elis. 

I  much  prefer  it,  as  you  know.  Shall  we 
walk? 

Christina. 

Yes — this  way.     [Goes  off  at  door  left.] 
31 


EASTER  AND  STORIES 


Elis. 

[Pats  Benjamin  on  the  head  in  passing.] 
Courage,  lad!  [Benjamin  buries  his  face  in 
his  hands.  Elis  takes  birch  branch  from  din- 
ing table  and  places  it  back  of  mirror.]  It  was 
no  olive  branch  the  dove  brought — it  was  birch. 
[Goes  out.] 

[Eleonora  enters  at  door  centre.  She  is  a 
girl  of  sixteen,  with  a  braid  down  her  back. 
She  carries  a  potted  yellow  Easter  lily  and, 
unthout  seeing  or  seeming  to  see  Benjamin, 
takes  a  ivater  bottle  from,  the  sideboard  and 
waters  the  plant,  places  it  on  dining  table, 
then  sits  doivn  at  table  opposite  Benjamin, 
regards  him,  and  unconsciously  imitates  his 
movements.  Benjamin,  astonished,  stares  at 
her.] 

Eleonoea. 

[Pointing   at   flower.]     Do   you  know   what 
this  is? 

Benjamin. 

[Simply    and    childishly.]     It's    an    Easter 
lily,  that  much  I  know;  but  who  are  you? 

32 


EASTER 


Eleonora. 

[^Pleasantly ,   hut  with   a  note   of  sadness.} 
And  who  are  you  ? 

Benjamin. 

My  name  is  Benjamin,  and  I  lodge  here  with 
Fru  Heyst. 

Eleonora. 

Oh,  do  you"?     My  name  is  Eleonora,  and  I 
am  a  daughter  of  this  house. 

Benjamin. 
How  strange  that  they  never  speak  of  you ! 

Eleonora. 
One  does  not  speak  of  the  dead. 

Benjamin, 

The  dead! 

Eleonora. 

I  am  legally  dead,  for  I  have  committed  a  ter- 
rible wrong. 

Benjamin 
You? 

33 


EASTER  AND  STORIES 


Eleonora. 
Yes;  I  have  embezzled  trust  funds — which 
was  of  no  great  consequence,  for  ill-gotten 
gains  should  perish — but  that  my  old  father 
got  the  blame  and  was  sent  to  prison,  that,  you 
see,  can  never  be  pardoned. 

Benjamin. 
How  strangely  and  prettily  you  speak! — Tt 
has  never  occurred  to  me  that  my  inheritance 
might  have  been  dishonestly  acquired. 

Eleonora. 

One  must  not  bind  people,   one  must  free 
them. 

Benjamin. 
You  have  freed  me  from  the  worry  of  being 
defrauded. 

Eleonora. 
You  are  a  ward,  then? 

Benjamin. 
Yes,    and    it    is    my    ill-luck    to    be    com- 
pelled to  stay  with  these  poor  people  and  live 
out  their  debt. 

34 


EASTER 

Eleonora. 

You  mustn't  use  hard  words,  for  then  I'll 
go  my  way;  I  am  so  sensitive  that  I  can't 
bear  anything  harsh.  Meanwhile — you  suffer 
this  on  my  account? 

Benjamiist. 
On  your  father's  account. 

Eleonoea. 

It  is  all  one,  for  he  and  I  are  one  and  the 
same  person — [pause'\.  I  have  been  very  ill — ■ 
Why  are  you  so  sad? 

Benjamin. 
I  have  had  a  stroke  of  bad  luck. 

Eleonoea. 

Shall  you  grieve  over  that?  ''The  rod  and 
reproof  give  wisdom,  and  he  that  hateth  re- 
proof shall  die."    "\Miat  was  your  bad  luck? 

Benjamin. 

I  failed  to  pass  in  my  Latin  examination, 
although  I  was  absolutely  certain — 

35 


EASTER  AND  STOEIES 


Eleonoka. 

So  you  were  absolutely  certain — so  certain 
that  you  could  liave  laid  a  wager  on  pass- 
ing—? 

Benjamin. 

And  I  did  it,  too ! 

Eleonora. 

I  thought  as  much.  You  see,  it  turned  out 
thus  because  you  were  so  certain. 

Benjamin. 
Do  you  think  that  was  the  cause  of  it? 

Eleonoka. 

Of  course  it  was.  "Pride  goeth  before  a 
fall." 

Benjamin. 
I'll  remember  that  next  time. 

Eleonora. 

Now  you  are  thinking  right;  and  ''the  sacri- 
fices which  are  pleasing  unto  God,  are  a  broken 
spirit  and  a  contrite  heart." 

36 


EASTER 


Benjamin. 
Are  you  pious? 

Eleonora. 
Yes. 

Benjamin. 
A  believer,  I  mean. 

Eleonora. 

Yes,  I  mean  just  that,  so  if  you  speak  evil  of 
God,  my  benefactor,  I  shall  not  sit  at  the  same 
table  with  you. 

Benjamin. 
How  old  are  you? 

Eleonora. 

For  me  there  is  neither  time  nor  space;  I 
am  everywhere  and  at  any  time.  I  am  in  my 
father's  prison  and  in  my  brother's  school 
room;  I  am  in  my  mother's  kitchen  and  in  my 
sister's  shop,  far  away  in  America.  When  all 
goes  well  with  my  sister  and  she  can  sell,  I  feel 
her  joy,  and  when  it  goes  badly,  I  suffer;  but  I 
suffer  most  when  she  does  wrong.     Benjamin 

37 


EASTER  AND  STORIES 


— You  are  named  Benjamin  because  you  are  the 
youngest  of  my  friends — yes,  all  mankind  are 
my  friends.  "Will  you  let  me  adopt  you,  that  I 
may  suffer  for  you,  too? 

Benjamin. 

I  do  not  wholly  understand  your  words,  but 
I  seem  to  catch  the  drift  of  your  thoughts  and, 
from  now  on,  I  wish  all  that  you  wish ! 

Eleonoka. 

To  begin,  then,  will  you  stop  judging  people 
— even  those  who  are  convicted  criminals'? 

Benjamin. 

Yes,  but  I  must  have  a  reason  for  it;  I  have 
read  philosophy  you  see. 

Eleonoka. 

Oh,  have  you!  Then  you  shall  help  me  in- 
terpret this,  from  a  great  philosopher:  **They 
who  hate  the  righteous,  shall  be  adjudged  crim- 
inally guilty."  * 

*  This  passage,  from  the  thirty-foiirth  Psalm,  had  to  be 
trajislate<l  from  tlie  Swedish  version  of  the  Bible  to  give  a 
correct  interpretation  of  the  author's  meaning.  Our  English 
Bible  conveys  a  somewhat  different  thought. — Trans. 

38 


EASTER 


Benjamin. 

Wliicli,  according  to  all  logic  means  that  one 
may  be  doomed  to  commit  crime — 

Eleonora. 
And  that  the  crime  itself  is  a  punishment. 

Benjamin. 

It  is  certainly  deep.     One  might  think  it  was 
Kant  or  Schopenhauer — 

Eleonoea. 
I  don't  know  them. 

Benjamin. 
In  whose  writings  have  you  read  it? 

Eleonoea. 
In  Holy  Writ. 

Benjamin. 
Really?     Are  such  things  to  be  found  there? 

Eleonoea. 

What  an  ignorant  and  neglected  child  jou. 
are!     If  I  could  only  train  you! 

39 


EASTEE  AND  STOEIES 


Benjamin. 
Little  you! 

Eleonoea. 

But  there  is  certainly  nothing  bad  in  you ;  if 
anything,  you  look  good.  What  is  the  name  of 
your  Latin  teacher? 

Benjamin. 
Professor  Algren. 

Eleonora. 

[Rising.]  I  shall  remember  that. — Oh!  now 
my  father  fares  very  badly — they  are  cruel  to 
him.  [Stands  still,  as  if  she  ivere  listening.] 
Do  you  hear  the  rasping  in  the  telephone  wires? 
— Those  are  the  hard  words  which  the  pretty, 
soft  red  copper  cannot  bear. — When  people 
slander  one  another  in  the  telephone,  the  cop- 
per wails  and  laments — [ivith  severity]  and 
every  word  is  written  in  the  Book — and  at  the 
end  of  time  comes  the  reckoning. 

Benjamin. 

How  severe  you  are  I 
40 


EASTER 


Eleonora. 

Not  I,  not  I!  How  would  I  dare  be?  1—11 
[She  goes  over  to  the  stove,  opens  the  door  and 
takes  out  some  torn  scraps  of  white  letter  pa- 
per. Benjamin  rises  and  looks  curiously  at  the 
scraps,  which  Eleonora  arranges  on  dining 
table.'] 

Eleonora. 

[To  herself.]  Why  are  people  so  thoughtless 
as  to  put  their  secrets  into  empty  stoves !  "Wlier- 
ever  I  am,  I  go  at  once  to  the  stove;  but  I 
never  misuse  my  knowledge — I  wouldn't  dare 
to,  for  that  brings  suffering.  [Reading.] 
Why,  what  is  this? 

Benjamin. 

It's  a  letter  from  Peter,  the  Senior  Wrangler, 
who  makes  an  appointment  with  Christina.  I 
have  suspected  this  for  some  time. 

Eleonora. 

[Placing  her  hand  over  the  papers.]  Well, 
what  have  you  suspected?  Speak  out,  you 
wicked  man,  who  think  only  evil!     This  letter 

41 


EASTER  AND  STORIES 


holds  nothing  but  good,  for  I  know  Christina, 
who  is  to  be  my  sister-in-law.  This  meeting 
will  ward  off  a  misfortune  from  brother  Elis. 
Promise  me  that  you  will  be  silent,  Benjamin? 

Benjamin. 
I  don't  think  I  should  dare  speak  of  this. 

Eleonora. 

What  mistakes  people  make  who  have  se- 
crets!— They  think  themselves  wise,  and  are 
fools. — But  what  was  I  doing  over  there  1 

Benjamin. 
Yes,  why  are  you  curious? 

Eleonora. 

You  see,  that  is  my  malady :  I  must  know  all, 
or  I  become  uneasy. 

Benjamin. 
Know  all? 

Eleonora. 

It  is  a  failing  which  I  cannot  overcome. — 
All  the  same,  I  know  what  the  starlings  say ! 
42 


EASTER 


Benjamin. 
But  tliey  can't  speak? 

Eleonora. 

Have  you  never  heard  starlings  tliat  were 
taught  to  speak? 

Benjamin. 
That  were  taught — yes. 

Eleonora. 

Well,  then,  starlings  can  learn  to  speak. 
Now,  there  are  some  who  teach  themselves,  or 
are  automatoms — they  sit  and  listen,  without 
our  knowing  it,  of  course,  and  then  they  repeat. 
I  heard  a  pair  of  them,  just  before  I  came  in, 
that  sat  in  a  walnut  tree  and  chattered. 

Benjamin. 
How  droll  you  are !     But  what  did  they  say  ? 

Eleonora. 

''Peter!"  said  one.  "Judas!"  said  the 
other — "You're  another!"  said  the  first — 
' '  Fy,  f y ! "  said  the  second.     Have  you  marked 

43 


EASTER  AND  STORIES 


that   tlie   nightingales    sing   only   in   the   deaf 
mutes'  garden,  close  hjl 

Benjamin. 
Yes,  that  is  known;  but  why  do  they  do  so? 

Eleonora. 

Because  those  who  have  ears  do  not  hear  what 
the  nightingales  say,  but  the  deaf  mutes  hear  it. 

Benjamin. 
Tell  me  some  more  stories ! 

Eleonora. 
Yes,  if  you  are  good. 

Benjamin. 
How  good? 

Eleonora. 

You  must  never  measure  words  with  me  and 
never  say:  ''Thus  you  said  then,  and  then 
you  said  thus."  Shall  we  talk  more  about 
birds?  There  is  a  wicked  bird  called  the  rat- 
buzzard,  who,  as  one  can  hear  by  his  name,  lives 
upon  rats.     And  since  he  is  a  bad  bird,  it  has  to 

44 


EASTER 


be  very  difficult  for  him  to  catch  rats.  That  is 
why  he  can  say  only  one  word,  and  it  sounds  as 
when  the  cat  says  ''mieou."  Now,  when  the 
buzzard  says  '^mieou"  the  rats  run  and  hide,  so 
he  is  very  often  without  food  because  he's  bad. 
Want  to  hear  more — or  shall  I  talk  about  flow- 
ers I  When  I  was  ill,  I  had  to  take  a  drug  made 
from  henbane,  which  has  the  peculiar  quality  of 
turning  the  eye  into  a  magnifying  glass. — Bel- 
ladonna, on  the  other  hand,  makes  one  see 
everything  diminished — and  now  I  see  farther 
than  others,  for  I  can  see  the  stars  in  broad 
daylight. 

Benjamin. 

But  the  stars  are  not  out? 

Eleonoea. 

How  amusing  you  are !  The  stars  are  always 
out.  Now  I  sit  facing  north,  looking  at  Cas- 
siopae,  which  resembles  a  W,  and  sits  in  the 
centre  of  the  ''Milky  Way."     Can  you  see  it? 

Benjamin. 
No,  I  can  not! 

45 


EASTER  AND  STORIES 


Eleonora. 

Now  bear  this  in  mind,  that  one  person  can 
see  what  another  cannot,  therefore  be  not  so 
certain  of  your  eyes.  I  was  going  to  speak  of 
the  flower  on  the  table:  It  is  an  Easter  lily 
which  belongs  in  Switzerland,  and  has  a  chalice 
that  has  absorbed  sunshine ;  therefore  it  is  yel- 
low, and  soothes  suffering.  As  I  came  along,  I 
saw  it  in  a  florist's  window  and  wanted  to  pre- 
sent it  to  brother  Elis.  '\¥hen  I  was  about  to 
enter  the  shop,  I  found  the  door  locked — it  is 
evidently  Confirmation  Day  to-day.  As  I  had 
to  have  the  flower,  I  took  out  my  keys  and  tried 
them.  Fancy!  My  door-key  fitted — I  walked 
in.  Do  you  understand  the  silent  language  of 
flowers?  Each  fragrance  expresses  many, 
many  thoughts;  these  thoughts  assailed  me, 
and,  with  my  magnified  eye,  I  looked  into  their 
workshops,  which  no  one  has  seen,  and  they 
spoke  to  me  of  their  sorrows  brought  upon 
them  by  the  stupid  gardener — I  do  not  say 
cruel,  for  he  is  only  thoughtless.  Then  I  laid 
a  krona,  with  my  card,  upon  the  counter,  took 
the  flower  and  walked  out. 


46 


EASTEE 

Benjamin. 

How  thoughtless!  But  think  if  they  should 
miss  the  flower,  and  do  not  find  the  money? 

Eleonoba. 
That  never  occurred  to  me! 

Benjamin. 

A  coin  can  disappear  so  easily,  and  if  only 
your  card  is  found,  you  are  lost! 

Eleonoea. 

Surely  no  one  thinks  that  I  would  take  any- 
thing— 

Benjamin. 
[Regards  her  steadily. 1     No? 

Eleonoea. 

[Scrutinizes  him  as  she  rises.']  Ah!  I  know 
what  you  mean — ''Like  father,  like  child." 
How  thoughtless  of  me !  Wliat — no !  What  is 
to  be,  will  be.  [Seats  herself.]  Let  it  come, 
then! 

Benjamin. 
Can't  one  adjust  this  matter? 
47 


EASTEE  AND  STOEIES 


Eleonora. 

Hush!  and  talk  of  something  else — Profes- 
sor Algren !  Poor  Elis !  poor  all  of  us !  But  it 
is  Passion  Week  and  we  must  suffer.  There's 
a  concert  to-morrow — Haydn's  "Last  words 
from  the  Cross" — "Mother,  behold  thy  Son!" 
iShe  buries  her  face  in  her  hands,  and  weeps.] 

Benjamin. 
What  sort  of  illness  have  you  had? 

Eleonora. 

"This  illness  is  not  unto  death,  but  for  the 
glory  of  God!  When  I  looked  for  good,  then 
evil  came  unto  me ;  and  when  I  waited  for  light 
there  came  darkness."  What  was  your  child- 
hood like,  Benjamin? 

Benjamin. 

I  don't  know. — Stupid,  as  I  recall  it — and 
yours  ? 

Eleonora. 

I  never  had  any.  I  was  born  old.  I  knew  all 
at  my  birth,  and  when  I  learned  anything  it 
was  just  like  remembering.    I  knew  the  thought- 

48 


EASTER 


lessness  and  ignorance  of  men  when  I  was  only 
four  years  old;  therefore  they  were  cruel  to- 
ward me. 

Benjamin. 

All  that  you  say  I,  too,  seem  to  have  thought. 

Eleonoka.  • 

I  daresay  you  have.  What  made  you  sup- 
pose that  my  coin  might  be  lost  at  the  florist's? 

Benjamin, 

Because  the  exasperating  thing  always  has  to 
happen. 

Eleonora. 

So  you,  also,  have  observed  this. — Hush! 
someone  is  coming.  {Glancing  up  stage.]  I 
hear  Elis'  step.  What  joy!  The  best  friend  I 
have  on  earth!  [She  becomes  apprehensive.] 
But  he's  not  expecting  me,  and  he  won't  be  glad 
to  see  me — indeed  he  won't!  Benjamin,  Ben- 
jamin, show  a  smiling  face  and  a  cheerful  spirit 
when  my  poor  brother  comes  !  I'll  step  in  here 
so  that  you  may  prepare  him  for  my  arrival. 
But  no   hard  words;   they  hurt   so.    Do   you 

49 


EASTEE  AND  STORIES 


hear?  Give  me  your  hand!  [Benjamin  puts 
forth  his  hand.  Eleonora  kisses  him  on  the 
head.]  There!  Now  you  are  my  little  brother. 
God  bless  and  keep  you!  [She  exits  left  and, 
in  passing,  she  pats  the  sleeve  of  Elis'  coat 
affectionately.]     Poor  Elis! 

[Elis  enters  at  centre  door  looking  troubled. 
Fru  Heyst  comes  on  from  kitchen.] 

Elis. 
Why,  there's  mother! 

Fru  Heyst. 

Was  it  you!     I  fancied  I  heard  a  strange 
voice. 

Elis. 

I  have  some  news  to  tell  you.     I  met  the  at- 
torney on  the  street. 

Fbu  Heyst. 
Wein 

Elis. 
The  case  will  now  go  to  the  higher  courts, 
and  in  order  to  save  time,  I  must  read  through 
all  the  official  records  of  the  trial. 

50 


EASTER 


Fru  Hbyst. 
You'll  soon  do  that. 

Elis. 

[Indicating  documents  on  writing  table.'] 
Ah,  I  thought  it  was  over!  And  now  I  must 
worry  through  this  entire  passion-story — all 
the  accusations,  all  the  testimony,  all  the  evi- 
dence over  again! 

Fru  Heyst. 

Yes,  but  then  he  will  be  acquitted  by  the 
higher  courts. 

Elis. 
No,  mother ;  he  has  confessed. 

Fru  Heyst. 

Yes;  but  that  can  be  a  "technical  error"  the 
attorney  said  when  last  I  talked  with  him. 

Elis. 
He  said  that  to  comfort  you. 

Fru  Heyst. 

Aren't  you  going  to  the  dinner? 
51 


EASTER  AND  STOEIES 


Elis. 
No. 

Feu  Heyst. 
So  you  have  changed  your  mind  again ! 

Eus. 
Yes. 

Fru  Heyst. 
That  sort  of  thing  is  bad. 

Elis. 

I  know  it,  but  I'm  tossed  like  a  straw  between 
breakers. 

Fru  Heyst. 

I  thought  just  now  that  I  heard  a  strange 
voice — one  known  to  me ;  but  I  must  have  heard 
wrongly.  iPointing  to  overcoat.]  That  coat 
shouldn't  hang  there,  I  told  you!  [Exits 
right.  Elis  crossing  to  left  sees  the  Easter 
lily.} 

Elis. 

[To  Benjamin.]  Where  did  that  flower  come 
from? 

52 


EASTER 


Benjamin. 
A  young  lady  brought  it. 

Elis. 
Lady!     AVhat  does  this  mean!     Who  was  it? 

Benjamin. 
It  was — 

Elis. 

Was  it — my  sister? 

Benjamin. 
Yes. 

Elis. 

[Sinks  doivn  into  a  chair  at  table.    Pause.^ 
Did  you  speak  with  her? 

Benjamin. 
Yes  indeed! 

Elis. 

0  God!  is  it  not  enough  yet?     Was  she  cross 
to  you? 

Benjamin. 

She?     No,  she  was  kind,  oh,  so  kind! 
53 


EASTEE  AND  STORIES 


Elis. 

Strange!    Did  she  speak  of  me?    Was  she 
very  angry  with  me? 

Benjamin. 

On  the  contrary,  she  said  that  you  were  her 
best  and  only  friend  on  earth — 

Elis. 
What  an  extraordinary  change! 

Benjamin. 

And  when  she  went  she  patted  your  coat — 
there,  on  the  sleeve. 

Elis. 
Went — where  did  she  go? 

Benjamin. 
^Pointing  toward  door  at  left.]     In  there. 

Elis. 
She  is  there  now? 

Benjamin. 
Yes. 

54 


EASTER 


Elis. 
You  look  so  pleased  and  happy,  Benjamin  I 

Benjamin. 
She  talked  to  me  so  beautifully — 

Elis. 
What  did  she  talk  about? 

Benjamin. 

She  told  stories,  and  then  there  was  a  good 
deal  about  religion — 

Elis. 
[Rising.]     Which  made  you  happy? 

Benjamin. 

Yes. 

Elis. 

Poor  Eleonora!  who  is  so  unhappy  herself, 
and  yet  can  bring  joy  to  others.  [Moving 
slowly  toward  left.]     God  forgive  me ! 

Curtain. 
55 


ACT  TWO. 


GOOD  FEIDAY. 


Music  played  before  this  act:  ''Seven  Last 
Words  from  the  Cross' '  (Haydn).  Largo  No. 
I,  "Pater  dimitti  illis." 


Scene:  Same  as  act  one.  Curtains  drawn, 
light  from  street  lamp  shining  through  them; 
hanging  lamp  lit.  On  dialing  table  is  a  small 
paraffin  lamp  lighted.  Fire  in  the  stove. 
Elis  and  Christina  seated  at  sewing  table, 
idle.  At  dining  table,  facing  each  other,  sit 
Eieonora  and  Benjamin,  reading.  Eleonora 
has  a  shawl  drawn  across  her  shoulders. 
All  are  dressed  in  black;  Elis  and  Benjamin 
wear  white  cravats.  Spread  out  on  ivriting 
table  are  the  documents  of  the  trial;  on  sew- 
ing table  is  the  Easter  lily  and  on  ivriting 
table  stands  an  old  clock.  Now  and  then  can 
be  seen  on  the  curtain  the  shadow  of  a  passer- 
by. 

Elis. 

[Speaking  in  an  undertone  to  Christina.'\ 
Good  Friday!  But  how  insufferably  long! 
The  snow  is  spread  over  the  pavement,  like 
straw  in  front  of  the  house  of  the  dying.  Every 
sound  is  hushed,  save  the  bass  notes  from  the 
organ,  which  can  be  heard  all  the  way  here. 

59 


EASTEE  AND  STORIES 


Christina, 
Mother  must  have  gone  to  Vespers. 

Elis. 

Yes,  for  she  dared  not  appear  at  High  Mass 
— the  stares  of  the  people  wound  her. 

Christina. 

These  people  are  a  queer  lot !  They  demand 
that  we  shall  keep  aloof;  they  deem  it  fitting 
and  proper. 

Elis. 

Perhaps  they  are  right — 

Christina. 

Because  of  one  person's  misstep,  the  whole 
family  is  outlawed. 

Elis. 
Such  is  life! 

[Eleonora  pushes  lamp  toward  Benjamin,  so 
that  he  will  see  better.'] 

Christina.     {To  Elis] 

Isn't  that  a  pretty  picture !  And  they  get  on 
so  well  together. 

60 


EASTER 


Elis. 

How  fortunate  that  Eleonora  is  so  tranquil. 
— If  it  will  only  last! 

Christina. 
Wliy  shouldn't  it? 

Elis. 

Because — happiness  doesn't  usually  last 
very  long.  I  fear  everything  this  day !  [Ben- 
jamin cautiously  pushes  lamp  toward  Eleonora, 
that  she  may  see  better.]  Have  you  observed 
how  changed  Benjamin  is?  The  old  sullen  de- 
fiance has  given  way  to  a  calm  submissiveness. 

Christina. 

How  sweet  she  is ! — Her  whole  being  radiates 
an  indefinable  charm. 

Elis. 

And  she  brings  with  her  an  angel  of  peace 
that  moves  about,  unseen,  breathing  a  tender 
calm.  Even  mother  appeared  calm  when  she 
saw  her — a  calm  which  I  had  not  expected. 

61 


EASTER  AND  STORIES 


Christina. 
Do  you  think  she  has  entirely  recovered? 

Elis. 

Yes,  if  only  this  oversensitiveness  were  gone. 
Now  she  is  reading  the  story  of  the  Crucifixion, 
and,  at  times,  she  weeps. 

Christina. 

I  remember  how  we  always  did  this  at  school 
on  Wednesdays  during  Lent. 

Elis. 
Don't   speak   so  loud;  her  hearing  is  very 
acute. 

Christina. 
Not  now — she  is  so  far  away. 

Elis. 
Have  you  marked  that  Benjamin's  features 
have  taken  on  a  certain  air  of  dignity  and  breed- 
ing? 

Christina. 
Suffering  has  done  that.     Joy  makes  every- 
thing commonplace. 

62 


EASTER 


Elis. 
Perhaps  it  is  love,  rather.    Don't  you  think 
those  children — 

Christina. 
Hush,  hush,  hush !     Mustn't  touch  the  butter- 
fly's wings,  for  then  she'll  fly  away! 

Elis. 
They  are  probably  gazing  at  each  other  and 
only  pretend  to  be  reading:  for  they  turn  no 
leaves  as  I  can  hear. 

Christina. 
Hush! 

Elis. 

See,  now  she  cannot  control  herself — 
[Eleonora  rises,  walks  over  to  Benjamin  and 
places  her  shawl  over  his  shoulders.  He  pro- 
tests mildly  at  first,  then  yields.  Eleonora 
goes  hack  to  her  place,  seats  herself  and  pushes 
lamp  toward  Benjamin.'] 

Christina. 

Poor  Eleonora!  She  doesn't  know  how  well 
she  means. 

63 


EASTER  AND  STORIES 


Elis. 
[Rising.]     Now  I'll  return  to  my  documents. 

Christina. 
Can  you  see  any  purpose  in  this  reading? 

Elis. 
One  only — to  keep  up  mother's  hope.  Al- 
though I,  too,  only  pretend  that  I'm  reading, 
yet  there  are  words  that  pierce  my  eyes  like 
thorns — Statements  of  witnesses;  figures;  fa- 
ther's admissions — thus:  "The  defendant  with 
tears  confessed — "  So  many  tears,  so  many 
tears !  And  these  papers,  with  their  seals,  that 
suggest  counterfeit  bank  notes,  or  prison  locks ; 
the  strings  and  the  red  seals  are  like  the 
Saviour 's  five  wounds ;  and  the  sentences  which 
never  end,  the  everlasting  pangs — this  is  Good 
Friday  penance!  Yesterday  the  sun  shone; 
yesterday  we  traveled  to  the  country — in  our 
thoughts — Christina,  suppose  we  have  to  stay 
here  all  summer! 

Christina. 
Then  we  should  save  a  good  deal  of  money — 
but  it  would  be  disappointing. 

64 


EASTER 

Elis. 

I  should  never  live  through  it !  I  have  spent 
three  summers  here,  and  it's  like  a  grave.  It 
is  midday  now,  and  one  sees  the  long  gTay 
streets  winding,  like  trenches — not  a  human 
being,  not  a  horse,  not  a  dog  anywhere!  But 
up  from  the  drains  come  the  rats,  whilst  the 
cats  are  off  on  their  smumer  cruises.  The  few 
persons  who  are  left  in  town,  sit  gating  into 
reflex-mirrors  at  their  neighbor's  clothes. 
* '  See,  he  is  wearing  his  winter  clothing ! ' ' — and 
at  their  neighbor's  run-down  heels,  and  their 
neighbor's  faults. — And  from  the  quarters  of 
the  poor,  the  maimed  and  decrepit  who,  until 
now,  were  in  seclusion,  come  crawling  out — 
creatures  without  noses  and  ears,  wicked 
wretches,  and  unfortunates.  They  sit  on  the 
great  promenade,  exactly  as  if  they  had  con- 
quered the  city,  where  but  lately  pretty,  well- 
dressed  children  played,  cheered  on  by  tender 
and  encouraging  words  from  their  beautiful 
mothers.  Xow  the  place  is  infested  with  a 
ragged  horde  who  curse  and  torment  each 
other. — I  recall  a  Midsummer's  Day  two  years 
ago— 

65 


EASTER  AND  STORIES 


Christina. 
Elis,  Elis,  look  ahead — ahead! 

Elis. 
Is  it  brighter  there? 

Christina. 

Let  us  think  it. 

Elis. 

[Sits  down  at  writing  table.]  If  it  would 
only  stop  snowing — so  one  could  go  for  a  stroll ! 

Christina. 

Dear  heart!  Last  evening  you  wished  the 
dark  days  back,  that  we  might  escape  people's 
glances.  "The  darkness  is  so  soothing;  so 
charitable,"  you  said.  "It  is  like  drawing  a 
blanket  over  one's  head." 

Elis. 

You  see,  then,  that  the  misery  is  just  as  great 
whichever  way  you  look  at  it — [reading  in 
documents'\.  The  worst  things  in  the  whole 
procedure  are  the  personal  questions  regard- 
ing father's  mode  of  living.    Here  it  says  that 


EASTER 

we  held  "grand  receptions,"  one  witness  de- 
clares that  he  ' '  drank ! ' '  No,  this  is  too  much ! 
I  can't  bear  more — yet  I  must  read  on — to  the 
end.    Are  you  cold? 

Christina. 

No ;  but  it  is  not  warm  here ! — Is  Lina  not  at 
home? 

Elis. 

She  is  at  Holy  Communion,  as  you  know. 

Chkistina. 

Surely  mother  will  be  home  soon? 

Elis. 

"When  she  comes  from  without,  I  am  always 
fearful,  for  she  hears  so  much  and  sees  so 
much — and  everything  is  bad! 

Christina. 

There  seems  to  be  an  unusual  melancholy  in 
your  family. 

Elis. 

And  therefore  none  but  melancholy  persons 
have  cared  to  associate  with  us;  the  happy 
have  shunned  us. 

67 


EASTER  AND  STORIES 


Christina. 
Mother  came  in  just  now  by  the  kitchen  door. 

Elis. 
Don't  be  impatient  with  her,  Christina. 

Christina. 

Ah,  no!  For  her  it  is  hardest!  But  I  don't 
understand  her. 

Elis. 

She  hides  her  humiliation  as  best  she  can, 
and  therefore  she  is  incomprehensible.  Poor 
mother ! 

[Fru  Heyst  comes  in  dressed  in  black,  carry- 
ing a  prayer  hook  and  a  handkerchief.] 

Fru  Heyst. 

Good  evening,  children. 

[All  speak  except  Benjamin,  who  simply 
nods.]     Good  evening,  mother  dear. 

Fru  Heyst. 

You  are  all  in  black,  as  though  you  were  in 
mourning !     [Silence.] 

68 


EASTER 


Elis. 
Is  it  still  snowing? 

Feu  Heyst. 

Yes,  there's  a  heavy  fall  of  wet  snow. — It's 
cold  in  here.  [She  goes  up  to  Eleonora  and 
pats  her.l  AVell,  my  eliick,  you  are  reading 
and  studying,  I  see.  [To  Benjamin,']  But 
you  don't  hurt  yourself  studying!  [Eleonora 
takes  her  mother's  hands  and  kisses  them.] 
[Fru  Heyst,  repressing  her  e^notion.]  There, 
my  child !     There,  there ! 

Elis. 
You  were  at  Vespers,  mamma? 

Fru  Heyst. 

Yes;  so  was  the  Perpetual  Curate,  and  I 
don't  like  him. 

Elis. 

Did  you  run  across  any  one  you  knew? 

Fru  Heyst. 
It  would  have  been  better  had  I  not ! 


69 


EASTER  AND  STORIES 


Elis. 
Then  I  know  whom — 

Feu  Heyst. 
Lindquist.     And    he    came    straight    up    to 
me — 

Elis. 

How  heartless! 

Fru  Heyst. 
He    wanted    to    know    how    we    were — and 
imagine  my  indignation  when  he  asked  if  he 
might  call  this  evening! 

Elis. 
On  a  holy  day? 

Fru  Heyst. 
I  was   speechless!     He  took  my   silence   as 
consent.     [Pause.]     He  may   be  here   at   any 

moment. 

Elis. 

Here?    Now? 

Fru  Heyst. 
He   said  that  he  wanted  to  leave  a  paper, 
which  was  of  import. 

70 


EASTER 


Elis. 
He  wants  to  take  the  furniture. 

Feu  Heyst. 
But  he  looked  so  queer — I  couldn't  make  him 
out. 

Elis. 
Then  let  him  come.     He  has  the  law  on  his 
side  and  we  've  got  to  submit.     We  must  receive 
him  properly  when  he  comes. 

Fku  Heyst. 
Only  let  me  escape  the  sight  of  him ! 

Elis. 
You  can  stay  in  your  room. 

Fku  Heyst. 

But  he  can't  have  the  furniture!  How 
should  we  manage  to  exist,  if  he  were  to  take 
everything?     One  can't  live  in  empty  rooms! 

Elis. 
"The  foxes  have  holes  and  the  birds  have 
nests — "     There  are  homeless  creatures  who 
live  in  the  forest — 

71 


EASTER  AND  STORIES 


Fru  Heyst. 
Knaves  should  live  there — not  honest  folk ! 

Elis. 

[At  writing  table.]  Mother,  I'm  reading 
now. 

Fru  Heyst. 

Have  you  found  any  errors? 

Elis. 
No ;  I  don 't  believe  there  are  any. 

Fru  Heyst. 

Why,  I  have  only  just  left  the  District  Attor- 
ney, and  he  said  that  there  might  be  a  technical 
error — a  disqualified  witness,  an  unproved  as- 
sertion or  a  contradiction.  You  can't  be  read- 
ing carefully — 

Elis. 

Yes,  mother,  but  it  is  so  painful — 

Fru  Heyst. 

Listen  to  me!  I  met  the  Magistrate  a  mo- 
ment ago — and  what  I  told  you  is  true — then 

72 


EASTER 


he  mentioned  a  robbery  which  occurred  in 
town  yesterday,  in  broad  daylight.  [Benja- 
min and  Eleonora  give  a  start.'] 

Elis. 
A  robbery?    Here  in  town? — Where? 

Fru  Heyst. 
It  is  supposed  to  have  happened  at  the  flor- 
ist's in  Cloister  street — but  the  whole  pro- 
ceeding was  most  extraordinary.  These  are 
the  facts,  presumably:  The  shopkeeper  closed 
his  place  to  attend  church,  where  his  son — or 
daughter  perhaps — was  to  be  confirmed. 
When  he  got  back,  around  three  o'clock — or 
four  maybe — but  that's  unimportant — the  shop 
door  was  open,  and  flowers  were  missing — 
quantities  of  flowers — a  yellow  tulip  in  particu- 
lar. 

Elis. 
A  tulip?     Had  it  been   a  lily,  I  should  be 
alarmed. 

Fru  Heyst. 
No,  it  was  a  tulip — that's  absolutely  certain. 
Meanwhile,     the     police     are     active     now — 

73 


EASTER  AND  STORIES 


[Eleonora  has  risen — as  if  about  to  speak,  hut 
Benjamin  goes  up  to  her  and  whispers  some- 
thing.] Fancy,  committing  a  robbery  on  Holy 
Thursday,  when  the  young  folks  are  being  con- 
firmed! Nothing  but  scallawags — the  whole 
community!  That  is  why  they  put  innocent 
people  in  prison. 

Elis. 
Is  no  one  suspected? 

Feu  Hbyst. 

No.  But  it  was  an  odd  sort  of  thief,  for  he 
took  no  money  from  the  cash  drawer. 

Elis. 
Oh,  that  this  day  were  over ! 

Feu  Heyst. 

And  if  Lina  would  only  come!  Oh,  I  heard 
about  Peter's  dinner  yesterday.  The  Governor 
himself  was  there. 

Elis. 

That  amazes  me,  for  Peter  was  always  re- 
garded as  being  against  the  Governor's  party. 

74 


EASTER 


Fru  Heyst. 
He  has  probably  changed  his  mind  now. 

Elis. 
He  is  not  called  Peter  for  fun,  it  seems ! 

Feu  Heyst. 
What  have  you  against  the  Governor? 

Elis. 
He  is  a  hinderer.  He  hinders  everything. 
He  hindered  the  Folk-High-Schools ;  hindered 
practice  at  arms;  innocent  cycling;  the  beauti- 
ful Vacation  Colonies  and — he  has  hindered 
me! 

Fru  Heyst. 
I  don't  understand — but  no  matter.     Mean- 
while, the  Governor  made  a  speech  and  Peter 
thanked  him — 

Elis. 
— Touched,  I  daresay,  and  denied  his  master 
saying:  "I  do  not  know  this  man" — And 
again  the  cock  crew.  Was  the  Governor  named 
Pontius,  surnamed  Pilate?  [Eleonora  moves, 
as  if  to  speak,  hut  controls  herself.] 

75 


EASTER  AND  STORIES 


Feu  Heyst. 

You  mustn't  be  so  bitter,  Elis!  Human  be- 
ings are  human,  and  one  has  to  put  up  with 
them. 

Elis. 
Hush!     I  hear  Lindquist  coming. 

Fru  Heyst. 
Can  you  hear  his  step  in  the  snow? 

Elis. 

I  hear  the  rap,  rap  of  his  cane  on  the  stones 
— and  his  leather  galoshes.     Go,  mother! 

Fru  Hey'St. 

No,  now  I  want  to  stay.  I've  got  something 
to  say  to  him, 

Elis. 

Mother,  dear,  please  go!  It  would  be  too 
painful. — 

Fru  Hey^st. 

''May  the  day  be  accursed  wherein  I  was 
born ! ' ' 

76 


EASTER 

Christina. 


Mustn't  curse! 


Feu  Heyst. 
[With  lofty  dignify.']     ''Is   not   destruction 
rather  to  the  wicked,  and  a  strange  punishment 
to  the  workers  of  iniquity  T' 

Eleonora. 
[With  a  cry  of  anguish.]     Mother! 

Fru  Heyst. 

''My  God,  why  hast  thou  forsaken  me!" — 
Oh,  my  children!     [Goes  out  left.] 

Elis. 

[Listening  to  sounds  from  ivithout.]  He 
stops. — Maybe  he  thinks  it  unseemly,  or  too 
brutal?  Surely  one  who  could  write  such 
dreadful  letters  would  not  think  thus!  They 
were  always  written  on  blue  paper,  and  now  I 
cannot  look  at  a  blue  letter  ^^thout  shuddering. 

Christina. 

AMiat  do  you  intend  to  say?  What  shall  you 
propose! 

77 


EASTEE  AND  STORIES 


Elis. 

I  don't  know.  I  have  lost  all  presence  of 
mind — all  power  to  reflect.  Shall  I  fall  at  his 
feet  and  beg  for  mercy?  Can  you  hear  him? 
I  hear  only  the  throbbing  of  the  blood  in  my 
ears. 

Christina. 

Let  us  imagine  the  worst  that  can  happen. — 
He  takes  everything — 

Elis. 

Then  along  comes  the  landlord  and  demands 
security,  which  I  cannot  get. — He  will  want  se- 
curity when  the  furniture  does  not  stand  here 
as  surety  for  the  rent. 

Cheistina. 

[Who  has  been  peeping  through  the  curtain.} 
He  is  no  longer  there ;  he  has  gone. 

Elis. 

Ah! — Do  you  know  that  mother's  apathetic 
submissiveness  pains  me  more  than  her  anger? 


78 


EASTER 

Christina. 

Her  submissiveness  is  only  assumed  or  fan- 
cied. There  was  somewhat  of  the  lioness'  roar 
in  her  last  words.  Did  you  see  how  tall  she 
became  1 

Elis. 

Fancy!  as  I  think  of  Lindquist  at  this  mo- 
ment, I  see  him  as  a  good-natured  giant  who 
only  wants  to  frighten  children.  Why  did  that 
come  to  me  just  now? 

Cheistina. 
Thoughts  come  and  go — 

Elis. 

How  fortunate  that  I  was  not  at  the  dinner 
yesterday!  I  should  certainly  have  made  a 
speech  against  the  Governor  and  spoiled  every- 
thing for  myself,  and  for  the  rest  of  us.  It  was 
a  great  stroke  of  fortune. 

Christina. 
You  see! 


79 


EASTEE  AND  STORIES 


Elis. 

Thanks    for    the    advice.     You    knew    your 
friend  Peter ! 

Christina. 
My  friend  Peter? 

Elis. 
I  meant — mine.  See,  now  he  is  here  again! 
Woe  to  us!  [On  the  curtain  appears  the 
shadow  of  a  man,  ivho  advances  hesitatingly. 
The  shadow  gradually  increases  and  becomes 
giantlike.  Great  suspense.]  The  giant!  See 
the  giant,  who  wants  to  swallow  us ! 

Christina. 

Why,  this  is  like  the  fairy-tales — something 
to  laugh  at. 

Elis. 
I  can't  laugh  any  more.     [Shadow  gradually 
decreases  until  it  disappears.] 

Christina. 

Then  look  at  the  cane,  and  you'll  have  to 
laugh, 

80 


EASTER 


Elis. 

He's  gone.  Now  I  want  to  breathe,  for  now 
he  will  not  come  before  to-morrow. — ^Ah ! 

Christina. 

And  to-morrow  the  sun  will  be  shining — for 
it  is  Resurrection  Eve;  the  snow  will  be  gone 
and  the  birds  will  be  singing! 

Elis. 

Say  some  more  things  of  that  sort.  I  can  see 
all  that  you  picture. 

Christina. 

If  you  could  only  look  into  my  heart :  if  you 
could  know  my  thoughts — my  good  intentions — 
my  inmost  prayers!  Elis,  Elis,  as  I  now — 
[Checks  herself.] 

Elis. 
What  is  it?     Tell  me! 

Christina. 
As  I  now  beg  one  thing  of  you — 


81 


EASTER  AND  STORIES 


Elis. 
Speak ! 

Christina. 

It  is  a  test.     Think  of  it  as  a  test,  Elis. 

Elis. 
Test,  testing?— Well— 

Christina. 

Let  me — no,  I  dare  not. — It  may  fail! 
[Eleonora  all  attention.'] 

Elis. 
Why  do  you  torture  me? 

Christina. 

I  shall  regret  it — I  know. — Let  come  what 
may!  Elis,  allow  me  to  go  to  the  concert  this 
evening. 

Elis. 

What  concert? 

Christina. 

Haydn's  "Last  Words  from  the  Cross,"  at 
the  Cathedral. 

82 


EASTER 


With  whom? 
With  Alice— 
And—? 
And  Peter. 
With  Peter ! 


Elis. 
Christina. 

Elis. 
Cheistina. 

Elis. 


Christina. 
Now  you  are  frowning!     I'm  sorry,  but  it  is 
too  late. 

Elis. 
Yes,  it  is  rather  late — but  explain  yourself ! 

Christina. 
I  prepared  you  for  this — which  I  cannot  ex- 
plain; therefore  I  asked  for  your  implicit  con- 
fidence. 

Elis. 
[Gently.]     Go!     I  have  faith  in  you,  but  I 
suffer  all  the  same  because  you  seek  the  trai- 
tor's company. 

83 


EASTER  AND  STORIES 


Christina. 
I  understand;  but  this  is  simply  a  test — 

Elis. 
— Which  I  cannot  stand! 

Christina. 
You  must ! 

Elis, 

I  want  to,  but  can't.  You  shall  go,  neverthe- 
less. 

Christina. 
Your  hand ! 

Elis. 

[Taking  her  proffered  hand.]  There! 
[Telephone  rings.]  [Elis  at  the  'phone.] 
Hello !  No  answer — Hello !  My  own  voice  an- 
swers. "Who's  there?  How  strange! — I  hear 
my  own  words,  like  an  echo. 

Christina. 
Such  things  can  happen. 

84 


EASTER 


Elis. 

Hello! — It's  uncanny.  [He  rings  o/f.]  Go 
now,  Christina,  without  explanations  or  par- 
ticulars; I'll  stand  the  test. 

Christina. 
If  you  do,  it  will  be  well  for  us. 

Elis. 

I'll  do  it.  [Christina  crosses  to  right.] 
Why  do  you  go  that  way? 

Christina. 

My  wraps  are  out  there.  So,  farewell  for 
the  present.     [She  goes  out.] 

Elis. 

Farewell,  my  friend — [pause]  forever !     [He 

rushes  out  left.] 

Eleonora. 

God  help  us,  what  have  I  done  now!  The 
police  are  searching  for  the  offender;  if  I  am 
discovered — poor  mother  and  Elis! 


85 


EASTER  AND  STORIES 


Benjamin. 

[Childishly.]  Eleonora,  you  must  say  that 
I  did  it. 

Eleonora. 

You!  Can  you  bear  another's  guilt,  you 
child? 

Benjamin. 

That's  easy  enough  to  do,  when  one  knows 
one  is  innocent. 

Eleonora. 
One  should  never  deceive. 

Benjamin. 

Let  me  telephone  to  the  florist  and  tell  him 
the  facts. 

Eleonora. 

No;  I  have  done  wrong  and  I  must  be  pun- 
ished with  unrest.  I  awakened  their  fear  of 
robbery,  and  I  ought  to  be  frightened. 

Benjamin. 

But  if  the  police  should  come — 
86 


EASTER 


Eleonora. 

That  would  be  hard — but  it  has  to  be — Oh, 
that  this  day  were  over!  [She  takes  up  the 
clock  from  the  table  and  moves  the  hands.] 
Good  clock,  go  a  little  faster!  Tick-tack,  ping 
ping — now  it  is  eight. — Ping,  ping,  ping, — now 
it  is  nine — ten — eleven — twelve — and  now  it  is 
Easter  Eve !  The  sun  will  soon  be  up,  and  then 
we  shall  write  on  the  Easter  eggs.  I'll  write 
like  this :  * '  Behold,  the  adversary  hath  desired 
you,  that  he  may  sift  you  as  wheat;  but  I  have 
prayed  for  thee — " 

Benjamin. 
Why  torture  yourself  so,  Eleonora? 

Eleonora. 

What,  I  torture  myself?  Think,  Benja- 
min, of  all  the  flowers  in  bloom — the  blue 
anemones,  the  white  snow-drops — that  have  to 
stand  out  in  the  snow  day  and  night,  to  freeze 
in  the  darkness !  Think  what  they  must  suffer! 
Night  time  is  the  hardest,  for  then  it  is  dark 
and  they  are  afraid  of  darkness.  They  can't 
run  away,  so  they  stand  there,  waiting  for  the 

87 


EASTER  AND  STORIES 


dawn.  All — all  things  suffer,  but  the  flowers 
most.  And  the  birds  of  passage  that  have 
come,  where  shall  they  sleep  to-night? 

Benjamin. 

iNaiveli/.']  They  sit  in  hollow  trees,  you 
know. 

Eleonoea. 

Surely  there  are  not  enough  hollow  trees  for 
all?  I  have  seen  only  two  in  the  parks  here- 
abouts, and  the  owls,  who  kill  the  little  birds, 
live  in  those.  Poor  Elis,  who  thinks  that  Chris- 
tina has  deserted  him !  But  I  know  that  she  is 
coming  back. 

Benjamin. 
K  you  know  it,  then  why  don't  you  tell  him? 

Eleonora. 

Because  Elis  must  suffer — all  must  suffer  on 
Good  Friday,  to  remind  them  of  Christ's  suf- 
ferings on  the  cross.  [Sound  of  a  police  ivliis- 
tle  is  heard  from  the  street.']  [Eleonora,  with 
a  start. 1     What  was  that? 

88 


EASTER 

Benjamix. 
Don't  you  know? 

Eleoxora. 
No. 

Benjamin. 
The  police — 

Eleonoea. 

Ah ! — It  sounded  like  that  when  they  came  to 
take  father. — Then  I  was  ill — and  now  they  are 
coming  to  take  me ! 

Benjamin. 

[Placing  himself  before  centre  door  and  fac- 
ing Eleonora.]  Xo,  they  can't  take  you!  I 
shall  protect  you,  Eleonora. 

Eleonora. 

That's  very  good  of  you,  Benjamin,  but  you 
mustn't  do  it. 

Benjamin. 

{Peeping  tJirougli  curtains.']  There  are  two 
of  them!  {Eleonora  tries  to  get  past  Ben- 
jamin, hut  he  quietly  restrains  her.]     Not  you, 

89 


EASTEE  AND  STORIES 


Eleonora! — for  then  I  shouldn't  care  to  live  any 
longer ! 

Eleonora. 

Go  sit  down  in  your  chair,  child ;  go  sit  down. 
{Benjamin  reluctantly  obeys.']  {Eleonora  looks 
through  curtain  without  attempting  to  conceal 
herself.]  It  was  only  two  little  boys.  ''Oh, 
we  of  little  faith !"  Do  you  think  God  so  cruel 
when  I  did  no  wrong — only  acted  thoughtlessly? 
It  served  me  right !    Why  did  I  doubt ! 

Benjamin. 

But  to-morrow  he  will  come  who  wants  to 
take  the  furniture — 

Eleonora. 

He  may  come,  and  we  can  go — from  every- 
thing ! — from  all  the  old  furniture  which  father 
has  been  accumulating  for  us,  and  which  I  have 
seen  ever  since  I  was  a  little  child.  One  should 
not  own  anything  that  binds  one  to  earth.  Go 
out  on  the  stony  highways  and  wander  with 
bleeding  feet,  for  that  way  leads  upwards, 
therefore  it  is  difficult — 

90 


EASTER 


Benjamin. 
There  you  go,  torturing  yourself  again ! 

Eleonora. 

Let  me !  But  do  you  know  what  I  find  hard- 
est to  part  with?  It  is  the  old  clock  over  there. 
That  was  here  when  I  was  born,  and  it  has 
measured  my  hours  and  my  days.  [She  lifts 
clock  from  the  table.]  Hear  how  it  beats,  ex- 
actly like  a  heart.  It  stopped  on  the  hour  that 
grandfather  died — for  it  was  here  even  then. 
Farewell,  little  clock,  may  you  soon  stop  again ! 
Do  you  know  that  it  used  to  hasten  when  we 
had  ill-luck  in  the  house —  as  though  it  wanted 
to  get  past  the  evil,  for  our  sakes,  of  course. 
But  when  the  times  were  bright,  it  slowed 
down,  that  we  might  enjoy  them  all  the  longer. 
It  was  the  good  clock.  But  we  had  a  bad  one 
too.  It  has  to  hang  in  the  kitchen  now.  The 
bad  clock  couldn't  tolerate  music,  and  as  soon 
as  Elis  touched  the  piano,  it  began  striking. 
Not  I  alone,  but  all  noticed  it ;  and  that  is  why 
it  has  to  stand  in  the  kitchen.  Lina  does  not 
like  it,  either,  for  it  isn't  quiet  at  night,  and 
she  can't  boil  eggs  by  it  because  they  always 

91 


EASTEE  AND  STORIES 


become   hard-boiled,   she   says.     Now  you  are 
laughing ! 

Benjamin. 

How  can  I  help  it ! 

Eleonora. 

You're  a  good  boy,  Benjamin,  but  you  must 
be  serious.  Think  of  the  birch  rod  behind  the 
mirror. 

Benjamin. 

But  you  are  so  amusing  that  I  have  to  laugh. 
— Why  weep  all  the  time? 

Eleonoea. 

If  one  can't  weep  in  the  vale  of  tears,  where 
else  shall  one  weepf 

Benjamin. 
Hm! 

Eleonora. 

You  would  rather  laugh  all  day,  and  you  have 
paid  for  it,  too !  I  like  you  only  when  you  are 
serious — bear  that  in  mind. 


92 


EASTER 


Benjamin. 

Do  you  think  we  shall  come  out  of  all  this, 
Eleonora? 

Eleonora. 

Most  of  it  will  right  itself,  when  Good 
Friday  is  over,  but  not  all.  To-day  the  rod; 
to-morrow  the  Easter  eggs.  To-day  snow;  to- 
morrow thaw.  To-day  death;  to-morrow  Res- 
urrection. 

Benjamin. 
How  wise  you  are ! 

Eleonoea. 

Oh,  I  feel  already  that  it  has  cleared  for  beau- 
tiful weather;  that  the  snow  is  melting.  To- 
morrow the  violets  will  bloom  by  the  south  wall. 
The  clouds  have  lifted — I  feel  it  in  my  breath- 
ing. Oh,  I  know  so  well  when  the  way  to 
Heaven  is  open !  Draw  aside  the  curtains,  Ben- 
jamin, I  want  God  to  see  us ! 

[He  rises  obediently ;  moonlight  streams  into 
the  room. 

93 


EASTER  AND  STORIES 


Look,  the  full  moon !  It  is  the  Paschal  moon. 
And  now  you  know  that  the  sun  is  still  with  us, 
although  the  moon  gives  the  light. 


Curtain. 


94 


ACT  THREE. 


EASTER  EVE. 

Music  before  rise  of  curtain:  ''Seven  Last 
Words  from  the  Cross''  (Haydn).  No.  5, 
Adagio. 


Scene  :  Same  as  first  and  second  acts,  hut  with 
curtains  drawn  hack.  Landscape  outside 
suhdued  hy  a  grayish  atmosphere.  Centre 
doors  closed;  a  fire  in  the  stove.  As  cur- 
tain rises,  Eleonora  is  seen  sitting  hefore  the 
stove  holding  toward  the  fire  a  hunch  of  hlue 
anemones.  Benjamin  enters  from  door  at 
right. 

Eleonoea. 

Wliere  have  you  been  all  this  time,  Benjamin? 

Benjamin. 
Surely  I  wasn  't  gone  a  great  while ! 

Eleonora. 
I  have  been  longing  for  you ! 

Benjamin. 
And  where  have  you  been,  Eleonora? 

Eleonora. 

I  have  been  at  the  market  place,  where  I 
bought  some  blue  anemones.  Now  I  am  warm- 
ing them.     They  were  frozen,  poor  things ! 

97 


EASTER  AND  STORIES 


Benjamin. 
Where's  the  sun'? 

Eleonoka. 
Behind  the  mists.     There  are  no  clouds  to- 
day, only  sea-mists — for  they  smell  salty — 

Benjamin. 
Did  you  notice  that  the  birds  were  still  alive 
out  there? 

Eleonora. 

Yes;  and  not  one  falls  to  the  i^round  unless 
God  wills  it.  But  there  were  dead  birds  at  the 
market  place. 

[Elis  comes  on  from  right.] 

Elis. 
Has  the  paper  come? 

Eleonora. 
No,  Elis. 

[Elis  crosses,  when  he  has  reached  the  centre 
of  the  stage,  Christina  comes  on  from  left.] 

Christina. 
[Taking  no  notice  of  Elis.]     Has  the  paper 
come? 

98 


EASTER 


Eleoxoea. 

No,  it  has  not  come.  [Christina  crosses  to 
right,  past  Elis  ivho  goes  out  left.  They  do  not 
glance  at  each  other.] 

Ugh!  how  cold  it  became!  Hatred  has  en- 
tered the  house.  So  long  as  there  was  love 
here,  one  could  endure  all;  but  now — ugh,  how 
cold! 

Benjamin. 

Why  do  they  ask  for  the  paper? 

Eleonora. 
Don't  you  understand?     It  will  be  in  there. 

Benjamin. 
What? 

Eleonora. 

The  whole  thing — the  theft,  the  police,  and 
more  besides — 

Frtj  Heyst. 

[Enters  at  door  right.]  Has  the  paper 
come? 

Eleonora. 

No,  mother  dear. 

99 


EASTER  AND  STORIES 


Fku  Heyst. 

[Speaking  as  she  goes  out  right.]     Let  me 
know  as  soon  as  it  comes. 

Eleonora. 
The  paper,  the  paper ! — Oh,  if  only  the  print- 
ing presses  had  gone  to  pieces ;  if  the  editor  had 
been   taken   ill. — No,   one   must   not   say    such 
things !     I  was  with  father  last  night — 

Benjamin. 
Last  night? 

Eleonora. 
Yes,  in  my  dreams — and  then  I  was  with  sis- 
ter, in  America.     Day  before  yesterday  she  sold 
thirty  dollars  worth,  and  earned  five. 

Benjamin. 
Is  that  little  or  much? 

Eleonora. 
It  is  rather  much. 

Benjamin. 
[Knoivinglg.']     Did  you  meet  a  friend  at  the 
market  place  ? 

100 


EASTER 


Eleonora. 
Wliy  do  you  ask?     You  mustn't  play  the  fox 
with  me,  Benjamin !     You  want  to  know  my  se- 
crets, but  you  sha'n't. 

Benjamin. 

And  you  think  that  you'll  learn  mine  in  this 
way! 

Eleonora. 

Do  you  hear  the  buzzing  in  the  telephone 
wires?  Ah!  now  the  paper  is  out  and  people 
are  telephoning: — "Have  you  read  it?" — ''I 
have—  "     ' '  Isn  't  it  dreadful  ? ' ' 

Benjamin 
"What  is  dreadful? 

Eleonora. 

This  whole  existence  is  dreadful!  But  we 
must  be  content.  Think  of  Elis  and  Christina ! 
They  are  fond  of  each  other  and  hate  each 
other,  equally,  and  the  thermometer  drops 
whenever  they  pass  through  the  room.  She 
was  at  the  concert  yesterday,  and  to-day  they 
do  not  speak.    Why,  why? 

101 


'EASTER  AND  STORIES 


Benjamin. 
Because  your  brother  is  jealous. 

Eleonora. 

Don't  voice  that  word!  What  do  you  know 
about  it,  for  that  matter,  save  that  it  is  a  disease 
and,  consequently,  a  punishment.  One  should 
not  touch  evil,  for  then  it  comes  back  at  one. 
Only  look  at  Elis!  Have  you  noticed  how 
changed  he  is  since  he  began  reading  those  pa- 
pers? 

Benjamin. 
About  the  trial? 

Eleonoea. 
Yes.  Is  it  not  as  though  all  the  evil  in  them 
had  penetrated  into  his  soul  and  was  now  flash- 
ing through  his  features — his  glances?  This 
Christina  feels  and,  as  a  protection  against  his 
evil  thoughts,  she  makes  of  herself  an  armor  of 
ice.  Oh,  those  dreadful  papers!  If  I  could 
onh"  burn  them !  Cruelty  and  treachery  and  re- 
venge are  all  through  them.  My  child,  you 
must  keep  the  evil  and  the  impure  from  you — 
both  from  your  lips  and  from  your  heart. 

102 


EASTER 


Benjamin. 
How  well  you  take  note  of  everything ! 

Eleonoka. 

Do  you  know  what  awaits  me  in  case  Elis  and 
the  others  learn  that  it  was  I  who  purchased  the 
Easter  Lily  in  that  unusual  manner? 

Benjamin. 
Wliat  will  they  do  to  you? 

Eleonora. 

They  will  send  me  back  there,  where  the  sun 
never  shines;  where  the  walls  are  white  and 
bare;  where  one  hears  only  weeping  and  wail- 
ing ;  where  I  have  wasted  one  year  of  my  life ! 

Benjamin. 
Where  do  you  mean  1 

Eleonora. 

— Where  one  is  tortured  worse  than  in  prison ; 
where  the  lost  live ;  where  unrest  has  its  abode ; 
where  despair  keeps  vigil  day  and  night — and 
whence  none  return ! 

103 


EASTEE  AND  STOEIES 


Benjamin. 
Worse  than  in  j^rison — where? 

Eleonora. 

In  prison  one  is  sentenced,  but  there  one  is 
doomed.  In  prison  one  is  examined  and  heard, 
but  there  one  is  unheard.  Poor  Easter  lily! 
you  were  the  cause  of  it.  I  meant  so  well,  and 
did  so  ill ! 

Benjamin. 

"Why  not  go  to  the  florist  and  say,  it  was  thus 
and  so?  You  are  just  like  a  lamb  about  to  be 
slaughtered. 

Eleonoea. 

When  it  knows  it  is  to  be  slaughtered,  it  does 
not  complain  or  try  to  escape.  What  else  can 
it  do! 

[Ells  comes  on  from  right,  with  a  letter  in 
his  hand.] 

Elis. 

Hasn't  the  paper  come  yet? 

Eleonora. 

No,  brother. 

104 


EASTER 


Elis. 
[Speaking  out  into  kitchen.']     Lina,  run  out 
and  buy  a  paper ! 

\_Fru  Heyst  comes  on  right;  Eleonora  and 
Benjamin  terrified.] 

[Elis  to  Eleonora  and  Benjamin.]  Run  out 
a  moment,  like  good  children!  [Both  go  out 
left.] 

Fru  Heyst. 

Did  you  get  a  letter  ? 

Elis. 
Yes. 

Fru  Heyst. 

From  the  Asylum  1 

Elis. 
Yes. 

Fru  Heyst. 

What  do  they  wish? 

Elis. 
They  demand  the  return  of  Eleonora. 

Fru  Heyst. 

They  can 't  have  her ;  she  is  my  child ! 
105 


EASTER  AND  STORIES 


Elis. 
And  my  sister ! 

Fru  Heyst. 
Then,  what  do  yon  mean? 

Elis. 
I  don't  know — I  can't  think — 

Fru  Heyst. 

But  I  can!  Eleonora,  the  child  of  sorrow, 
has  come  back  with  joy,  but  not  the  joy  of  this 
world !  Her  unrest  has  been  turned  into  peace, 
which  she  shares.  Sane  or  not,  for  me  she  is 
wise ;  for  she  understands  how  to  bear  the  bur- 
dens of  life  better  than  I— than  we.— For  the 
matter  of  that,  am  I  sane,  Elis?  Was  I  sane 
when  I  believed  my  husband  guiltless  ?  I  knew, 
of  course,  that  he  was  convicted  upon  actual 
material  evidence— that  he  himself  admitted. 
And  you,  Elis,  are  you  in  your  right  mind  when 
you  do  not  see  that  Christina  loves  you? — when 
you  think  that  she  hates  you? 

Elis. 

It's  a  curious  way  of  loving! 
106 


EASTER 


Fru  Heyst. 

No,  it  is  not !  Your  coldness  chills  her  to  the 
heart,  and  it  is  you  who  hate.  But  you  are  in 
the  wrong ;  that  is  why  you  suffer. 

Elis. 

How  can  I  be  in  the  wrong!  Didn't  she  go 
with  my  faithless  friend  last  evening? 

Fru  Heyst. 

She  did,  and  with  your  consent.  But  why  did 
she  go  I     You  should  surmise  that. 

Elis. 
But  I  can't! 

Feu  Heyst. 

Very  well !  You  deserve  all  that  you  are  get- 
ting. \_KitcJien  door  opens;  a  hand  is  seen 
holding  out  a  paper,  ivhich  Fru  Heyst  takes  and 
gives  to  Elis.] 

Elis. 

This  is  the  only  real  misfortune!  With  her 
here,  we  could  weather  the  rest;  but  now  the 
last  support  is  snatched  away — and  now  I  fall ! 

107 


EASTER  AND  STORIES 


Fru  Heyst. 

Fall,  but  fall  right — then  you  can  raise  your- 
self later. — Anything  new  in  the  paper"? 

Elis. 
I  don 't  know ;  I  'm  afraid  of  the  paper  to-day. 

Fru  Heyst. 
Give  it  me,  and  I'll  read  it. 

Elis 
No — wait  a  second ! 

Fru  Heyst. 
What  do  you  fear  1    What  do  you  anticipate  1 

Elis. 
The  very  worst! 

Fru  Heyst. 

That  has  happened  already,  so  many  times! 
Oh,  child,  if  you  knew  my  life ;  if  you  had  been 
present  when  I  saw  your  father  go  down,  step 
by  step,  without  my  being  able  to  warn  all  those 
upon  whom  he  was  bringing  misfortune !  AVhen 
he  fell,  I  felt  equally  guilty,  for  I  was  cognizant 

108 


EASTER 


of  the  crime.  Had  not  the  Judge  been  a  sensi- 
ble man  who  understood  my  position  as  wife,  I 
too  would  have  been  punished. 

Elis. 
Wliat  was  the  cause  of  father's  downfall!     I 
have  never  been  able  to  fathom  it. 

Feu  Heyst. 
Pride — the  stumbling  block  by  which  we  all 
fall. 

Elis. 

But  why  should  we  who  are  innocent  suffer 
for  his  fault? 

Fku  Heyst. 

Be  silent !  [Pause,  during  tvhich  she  takes 
the  paper  and  reads.]  What  does  this  mean? 
Didn  't  I  say  it  was  a  yellow  tulip,  among  other 
things,  that  was  missing? 

Elis. 
Yes,  that  I  distinctly  remember. 

Fru  Heyst. 

But  here  it  says — an  Easter  lily ! 
109 


EASTER  AND  STOEIES 


Elis. 
iStartled.]     Does  it  say  that? 

Fru  Heyst. 

[Sinks  hack  in  chair.]     It  was  Eleonora ! — 0 
God,  my  God ! 

Elis. 
So  it  is  not  over,  it  seems ! 

Fru  Heyst. 
Prison  or  the  Asylum! 

Elis. 
It  is  impossible  that  she  did  it — impossible ! 

Fru  Heyst. 

Now  the  family  name  must  go  forth  again  to 
be  dishonored — 

Elis. 
Is  she  suspected? 

Fru  Heyst. 

It  says  that  suspicion  points  in  a  certain  di- 
rection— it  is  pretty  plain  where — 

110 


EASTER 


Elis. 
I  will  speak  to  her. 

Fru  Heyst. 

Speak  gently,  for  I  can  bear  no  more !  Re- 
covered and  lost  again! — Speak  to  her!  [She 
goes  out  right.] 

Elis. 

Ah!  [He  crosses  to  the  door  at  left  and 
calls.]  Eleonora,  my  child !  Come,  let  me  talk 
to  you! 

Eleonora. 

[Coming  on  tvith  hair  unhraided.]  I  was  just 
arranging  my  hair — 

Elis. 

Never  mind !  Tell  me,  little  sister,  where  you 
got  this  flower? 

Eleonora. 
I  took  it — 

Elis. 

0  God! 

Ill 


EASTER  AND  STORIES 


Eleonoea. 

[Overcome,  her  head  droops  and  she  clasps 
her  hands  on  her  breast.}  But  I  laid  the  money 
beside — 

Elis. 

So  you  paid  for  it ! 

Eleonoba. 

Yes  and  no.  How  provoking! — but  I  have 
done  no  wrong.  I  meant  well — do  you  believe 
me? 

Elis. 

I  believe  you,  sister;  but  the  press  doesn't 
know  that  you  are  innocent. 

Eleonoea. 

Dear  heart,  then  I  must  suffer  for  this  too! 
[Her  head  bends  loiver,  so  that  her  hair  falls 
over  her  eyes.]  What  would  they  do  to  me 
now?     Let  them  do  it. 

Benjamin. 
[Frantically  rushing  on  from  left.]     No,  you 
sha'n't  touch  her!     She  has  done  no  wrong — 
I  know  it ;  for  it  was  I,  I,  I  who  did  it ! 

112 


EASTER 


Eleonoka. 
Don't  believe  what  he's  saying — it  was  I! 

Elis. 
TVliat  am  I  to  believe ;  whom  shall  I  believe  1 

Benjamin. 
Me !  Me ! 

Eleonora. 
No,  me,  me ! 

Benjamin. 
Let  me  go  to  the  police — 

Elis. 
Hush,  hush! 

Eleonora, 
No,  I  want  to  go,  I  want  to  go — 

Elis. 
Hush,  children! — Mother  is  coming. 
[Fni  Hei/st  comes  on  greatly  excited.     She 
takes  Eleonora  in  her  arms  and  hisses  her.] 

Fru  Heyst. 
Child,  child,  my  precious  child !    You  are  with 
me,  and  you  shall  stay  with  me ! 


113 


EASTER  AND  STORIES 


Eleonoea, 

You  kiss  me,  mother!  You  haven't  done  this 
in  many  j^ears — why  now? 

Fru  Heyst. 

Because  now — because  the  florist  is  outside 
and  asks  to  be  pardoned  for  causing  us  so  much 
annoyance.  The  lost  coin  is  found,  and  your 
good  name — 

Eleonoea. 

[Rushes  into  Eiis'  arms  and  kisses  him, 
then  she  clasps  Benjamin's  neck  and  kisses  him 
on  the  hroiv.]  You  dear,  good  child!  You 
wanted  to  suffer  for  me!     How  could  you? 

Benjamin. 

[Shyly.']  Because  I  like  you  so  much, 
Eleonora ! 

Feu  Heyst. 

Bundle  yourselves  up,  children,  and  go  out 
into  the  garden.     It's  clearing. 


114 


EASTEK 

Eleonora, 
Ah,   it's   clearing!     Come,  Benjamin.     [She 
takes  him  by  the  hand  and  they  go  out,  hand  in 
hand.'] 

Elis. 
May  we  cast  the  birch  rod  on  the  fire  now? 

Fru  Heyst. 
Not  yet!     There  is  still  a  little  matter  to  be 
settled — 

Elis. 
Lindquist  ? 

Fru  Heyst. 
He  is  outside ;  but  he  seems  very  strange,  and 
unaccountably  mild.     AVhat  a  pity  that  he  is  so 
wordy,  and  talks  so  much  about  himself ! 

Elis. 
Now,  that  I  have  seen  a  sunbeam,  I  am  not 
afraid  to  meet  the  giant.     Let  him  come ! 

Fru  Heyst. 
But  don't  irritate  him — Providence  has  placed 
our  fate  in  his  hands,  "and  the  meek" — well, 
you  know  where  the  proud  go ! 

115 


EASTER  AND  STORIES 


Elis. 

I  know — liark !  the  galoshes :  Vipers,  vipers, 
vitch !  Does  he  intend  to  come  in  with  them — 
why  not?  These  are  his  carpets,  and  his  fur- 
niture— 

Feu  Heyst. 

Elis,  think  of  us!     [Goes  out  right.] 

Elis. 

I  do,  mother. 

[Lindquist  enters  from  door  at  right  of 
stage.  He  is  an  elderly  and  serious-looMng 
man,  with  a  repellent  appearance.  His  hair  is 
gray.  He  wears  a  toupee  and  close-cropped 
side-whiskers.  He  has  on  horn-howed  spec- 
tacles and  on  watch  chain  are  hung  large  charms 
of  carbuncle.  He  is  dressed  in  black,  with 
overcoat  on;  he  holds  a  high  silk  hat  in  his 
hand.  He  wears  top  boots  and  leather  galoshes 
that  creak.  As  he  steps  into  the  room,  he 
stares  curiously  at  Elis,  and  pauses.'] 

Lindquist. 

Lindquist  is  my  name. 
116 


EASTER 

Elis. 

[On  the  defensive.]  Herr  Heyst  is  mine. 
Please  be  seated.  [Lindquist  sits  down  on 
chair  to  right  of  sewing  table  and  looks  Elis 
square  in  the  eye.    Pause.] 

Elis. 
How  can  I  serve  you! 

Lindquist. 

[Pompously.]  Hm! — I  had  the  honor  last 
evening  of  intimating  my  intended  visit,  but 
upon  second  thought,  I  deemed  it  unsuitable  to 
discuss  business  matters  on  a  holiday — 

Elis. 
We  are  very  grateful — 

Lindquist. 

We  are  not  grateful !  Oh,  by  the  by,  [pause] 
day  before  yesterday  I  made  a  casual  call  at  the 
Governor's.  [He  pauses  to  see  what  sort  of  im- 
pression his  last  ivord  makes  upon  Elis.]  Do 
you  know  the  Governor? 


117 


EASTER  AND  STOKIES 


Elis. 
[Indifferently.]     I  haven't  the  honor ! 

LiNDQUIST. 

Then  you  shall  have  the  honor.  We  spoke  of 
your  father — 

Elis. 
I  daresay — 

LiNDQUIST. 

[Takes  out  a  paper  which  he  lays  on  the 
table.]     And  there  I  got  this  paper. 

Elis. 

I  have  long  been  expecting  this;  but  before 
we  go  any  further,  may  I  be  allowed  to  ask  a 
question  ? 

LiNDQUIST. 

[Curtly.]     As  you  please. 

Elis. 

Why  don 't  you  place  this  paper  in  the  Execu- 
tors'  hands,  then  we  might  at  least  be  spared 
this  painful  and  long-drawn-out  execution? 

118 


EASTER 


LiNDQUIST. 

Indeed,  young  man ! 

Elis. 
Young  or  not,  I  ask  no  cliarity — only  justice. 

LiNDQUIST. 

Hm! — No  cliarity,  no  charity  I  Look  at  that 
paper,  which  I  laid  at  the  end  of  the  table — 
Now  it  goes  back  into  my  pocket !  Justice,  then 
— justice  only.  Listen,  old  friend !  Once  upon 
a  time  I  was  robbed,  robbed  of  my  money  in  a 
most  unpleasant  manner.  Then,  when  I  wrote 
you  a  kind  and  inoffensive  letter  asking  how 
much  time  you  required,  you  replied  unciv- 
illy, treating  me  like  a  usurer,  although  I  was 
the  plundered  party,  while  you  belonged  to  the 
robber  gang.  Inasmuch  as  I  was  the  more  sen- 
sible, I  was  obliged  to  answer  your  insolent 
epithets  with  a  polite,  but  incisive  one.  You 
know  my  blue  paper — eh?  I  can  set  seals  on  it 
when  I  choose — but  I  do  not  always  choose. 
[He  glances  round  about.'] 


119 


EASTER  AND  STORIES 


Elis. 

If  you  please,  the  furniture  is  at  your  dis- 
posal. 

LiNDQUIST. 

I  wasn't  looking  at  the  furniture ;  I  wanted  to 
see  if  your  mother  was  here.  She,  presumably, 
loves  justice  as  much  as  you  do? 

Elis. 
I  hope  so! 

LiNDQUIST. 

Good! — Do  you  know  that  if  your  highly- 
prized  justice  had  had  its  way,  your  mother,  as 
accessory  to  the  crime,  would  have  been  felled 
by  human  justice? 

Elis. 
Oh,  no! 

LiNDQUIST. 

Oh,  yes !  and  it  is  not  too  late  yet. 

Elis. 
My  mother ! 

120 


EASTER 


LiNDQUIST. 

[Takes  out  another  blue  paper  and  lays  it  on 
the  table.']  Look!  now  I  lay  this  paper  here, 
and  it  is  actually  blue — as  yet,  there  are  no 
seals. 

Elis. 

Great  God! — My  mother?  All  things  come 
back  to  you ! 

LiNDQUIST. 

Yes,  my  young  lover  of  justice,  all  things 
come  back  to  us — all!  Suppose  I  were  to  put 
this  question  to  myself:  You,  Anders  Johann 
Lindquist,  born  in  poverty  and  dragged  up  amid 
privation,  and  to  labor,  have  you  the  right  in 
your  old  age  to  deprive  yourself  and  your  chil- 
dren— mark!  your  children — of  the  support 
which  you  by  industry,  solicitude  and  self-denial 
— mark!  self-denial — have  saved,  penny  by 
penny?  What  must  you,  Anders  Johann  Lind- 
quist, do,  if  you  wish  to  be  justf  You  plun- 
dered no  one.  But  if  you  think  it  a  bit  rough 
that  you  were  plundered,  you  can  no  longer  re- 
main in  the  community,  for  no  one  wants  to 

121 


EASTER  AND  STORIES 


receive  the  pitiless  man  who  asks  the  return  of 
his  own.  You  see,  then,  that  there  is  a  charity 
which  is  contrary  to  justice  and  above  it — 
namely,  mercy. 

Elis. 
You  are  right,  take  all!     It's  yours. 

LiNDQUIST. 

I  have  the  right,  but  dare  not  use  it. 

Elis. 

I  shall  think  of  your  children,  and  not  mur- 
mur. 

LiNDQUIST. 

Good !    Then  we  '11  put  the  blue  paper  away. — 
Now  we  will  go  a  step  farther. 

Elis. 

Pardon  me,  but  do  they  really  intend  to  prose- 
cute my  mother  ? 

LiNDQUIST. 

We'll  go  a  step  beyond  that  first.     So  you  do 
not  know  the  Governor  personally? 

122 


EASTER 

Elis. 
No,  and  I  don't  care  to  know  him! 

LiNDQUIST. 

[Takes  out  the  paper  again  and  waves  it.] 
Not  so  fast,  not  so  fast!  The  Governor,  you 
see,  was  a  friend  of  your  father's  in  his  youth, 
and  he  wants  to  become  acquainted  with  you. 
All  things  come  back  to  you,  all  things.  Won't 
you  call  on  the  Governor? 

Elis. 
No! 

LiNDQUIST. 

The  Governor — 

Elis. 
Let  us  change  the  subject. 

LiNDQUIST. 

You  must  be  civil  to  me,  young  man,  for  I 
am  defenseless,  since  you  have  public  sympathy 
on  your  side  and  I  have  only  justice.  What 
have  you  against  the  Governor?  He  doesn't 
take  kindly  to  cycling  and  Folk-High-Schools — 

123 


EASTER  AND  STORIES 


these  are  some  of  his  little  idiosyncrasies.  We 
need  not  exactly  respect  the  idiosyncrasies,  but 
we  can  pass  them  by — pass  them  by  and  confine 
ourselves  to  the  main  points,  as  man  to  man. 
In  the  larger  issues  of  life,  we  must  take  each 
other,  with  faults  and  weaknesses,  swallow  each 
other,  hide  and  hair. — Go  to  the  Governor ! 

Elis. 
Never ! 

LiNDQUIST. 

Is  that  the  kind  of  man  you  are? 

Elis. 
[Conclusively.']     Yes,  that  kind! 

LllSTDQUIST. 

[Rises  and  begins  to  pace  the  floor.]  That's 
worse  and  worse!  I  shall  begin  at  the  other 
end.  A  revengeful  person  proposes  to  conduct 
the  suit  against  your  mother.  You  can  prevent 
it. 

Elis. 
How? 

124 


EASTER 


LiNDQUIST. 

Go  to  the  Governor. 

Elis. 
No! 

LiNDQUIST. 

[Stepping  up  to  Elis  and  taking  him  by  the 
shoulders.]  Then  you  are  the  most  contempti- 
ble human  being  I  ever  met  in  my  life!  And 
now  I  shall  go  to  your  mother  myself. 

Elis. 
Don't! 

LiNDQUIST. 

Will  you  call  on  the  Governor,  then? 

Elis. 
Yes. 

LiNDQUIST. 

Say  it  again — and  louder! 

Elis. 
Yes! 


125 


EASTER  AND  STORIES 


LiNDQUIST. 

Now  that  point  is  clear.  [Presenting  blue 
paper.}  There's  the  document.  [Elis  accepts 
the  paper  witJiout  glancing  at  it.'\  Now  we 
come  to  point  number  two,  which  was  really 
number  one. — Shall  we  be  seated?  {They  seat 
themselves  as  before.']  See!  If  we  only  meet 
half  way,  we  can  cover  the  ground  in  no  time. 
Number  two :  This  is  my  claim  on  your  home. 
— Oh,  no  illusions!  for  I  neither  can  nor  wish 
to  give  away  my  family's  common  property.  I 
shall  exact  the  last  copper  of  my  claim. 

Elis. 
I  understand  that. 

LiNDQUIST. 

[Sharply.']  Oh,  you  understand  that,  do 
you? 

Elis. 

I  meant  no  offense. 

LiNDQUIST. 

I  apprehend.  [He  pushes  hack  spectacles 
and    looks    hard    at    Elis.]     "Mad    wolf" — 

126 


EASTEE 


"Browbeater" — "The  giant  in  the  Skinnervik 
Mountains,  who  does  not  eat  children — only 
frightens  them. "  I  '11  frighten  you  till  you  are 
clean  out  of  your  senses!  I'll  have  the  worth 
of  every  stick  of  furniture — I  have  the  inven- 
tory in  my  pocket,  and  if  one  peg  is  missing, 
you  go  to  jail,  young  man!  Oh,  I  can  devour 
women  and  children  when  I'm  provoked,  as  for 
public  sentiment — bah! — I'll  simply  move  to 
another  town.  [Elis  is  nonplussed.]  You  had 
a  friend  named  Peter,  Peter  Holmblad.  He 
was  an  orator  and  a  linguist;  but  you  wanted 
to  turn  him  into  some  kind  of  oracle.  Well,  he 
was  faithless — twice  the  cock  crew. — Am  I 
right?  [Elis  is  silent.]  Human  nature  is  un- 
reliable— like  matter  and  our  thoughts.  Peter 
was  faithless,  I  don't  dispute  that,  nor  do  I  de- 
fend him  on  that  score.  But  the  human  heart 
is  fathomless,  and  gold  and  dross  are  inter- 
mingled there.  Peter  was  a  faithless  friend, 
but  a  friend  nevertheless. 

Elis. 
A  treacherous — 

127 


EASTER  AND  STORIES 


LiNDQUIST. 

Treacherous,  perhaps,  but  a  friend  all  the 
same.  This  treacherous  friend  has  unwittingly 
rendered  you  a  great  service. 

Elis. 
This  also ! 

LiNDQUIST. 

[Moving  closer  to  Elis.]  All  things  come 
back  to  us — all ! 

Elis. 

■   All  the  evil,  yes ;  and  the  good  is  recompensed 
with  evil. 

LiNDQUIST. 

Not  always.  The  good  also  comes  back  to  us, 
believe  me! 

Elis. 

I  must,  I  daresay,  or  you  will  torture  the  life 
out  of  me. 


128 


EASTER 


LiNDQUIST. 

Not  life — but  pride  and  hatred  I  shall  squeeze 
out  of  you ! 

Elis. 
Continue — 

LiNDQUIST. 

Peter  has  done  you  a  service,  I  said. 

Elis. 
I  don't  care  to  accept  favors  from  that  man. 

LiNDQUIST. 

Are  we  there  again!  Hear  this:  Through 
the  mediations  of  your  friend  Peter,  the  Gov- 
ernor was  persuaded  to  intercede  in  your 
mother's  behalf;  therefore  you  must  write  a 
letter  to  Peter  and  thank  him.     Promise  1 

Elis. 

No.  To  any  one  else  in  the  world,  but  not  to 
him! 


129 


EASTER  AND  STORIES 


LiNDQUIST. 

[Drawing  closer.]  I  shall  have  to  squeeze 
you  again,  then. — You  have  money  deposited  in 
the  bank. 

Elis. 

How  does  that  concern  you?  I'm  not  liable 
for  my  father's  debts. 

LiNDQUIST. 

You're  not! — No?  Were  you  not  feasting 
with  the  others  when  my  children's  money  was 
being  squandered  in  this  house?    Answer! 

Elis. 
I  cannot  deny  it. 

LiNDQUIST. 

And,  seeing  that  the  furniture  does  not  cover 
the  debt  in  full,  you  will  at  once  make  out  a 
check  for  the  balance. — You  know  the  sum. 

Elis. 
[Baffled.]     This  too! 


130 


EASTER 

LiNDQUIST. 

This  too. — Be  good  enougb  to  write!  [Elis 
takes  out  a  check-hook  and  goes  over  to  the  writ- 
ing table.} 

Make  it  payable  to  person  or  bearer. 

Elis. 
This  will  not  cover  the  amount  due. 

LiNDQUIST. 

Then  you  can  go  out  and  borrow  tlie  rest. 
Every  penny  must  be  paid ! 

Elis. 

[Handing  check  to  Lindquisf.]  There.  It  is 
all  I  possess — my  summer  and  my  bride! 
More  I  cannot  give  you. 

LiNDQUIST, 

Then  you  must  borrow,  I  said. 

Elis. 
Impossible ! 

LiNDQUIST. 

Then  you  will  have  to  find  security. 
131 


EASTEK  AND  STOEIES 


Elis. 

There  is  no  one  who  cares  to  become  surety 
for  a  Heyst, 

LiNDQUIST. 

As  ultimatum,  I  shall  present  two  alter- 
natives :     Thank  Peter,  or  out  with  whole  sum. 

Elis. 
I  don't  wish  to  have  any  dealings  with  Peter. 

LiNDQUTST. 

Then  you  are  the  meanest  person  I  know. 
By  an  act  of  common  politeness,  you  can  save 
your  mother's  home  and  your  fiancee's  compe- 
tence, and  you  won't  do  it.  There  must  be  some 
motive  back  of  this  which  you  don't  reveal — 
Why  do  you  hate  Peter  f 

Elis. 
Kill  me,  but  don't  torture  me  any  longer  I 

LiNDQUIST. 

You  are  jealous  of  him. 
[Elis  shrugs  his  shoulders.] 
Thus  the  case  stands.     [Lindquist  rises  and 
132 


EASTER 


ivalks  up  and  down.]     Have  you  read  the  morn- 
ing paper? 

Elis. 
Yes,  unhappily! 

LiNDQUIST. 

The  whole  paper? 

Elis. 
No,  not  all  of  it. 

LiNDQUIST. 

Then  you  don't  know  that  Peter  is  engaged? 

Elis. 
I  didn't  know  it. 

LIjSTDQUIST. 

Nor  to  whom? — Guess! 

Elis. 
How — 

LiNDQUIST. 

He  is  engaged  to  Miss  Alice ;  it  was  arranged 
yesterday  at  a  certain  concert,  where  your  be- 
trothed consented  to  act  as  intermediary. 

133 


EASTER  AND  STORIES 


Elis. 
Why  so  secret? 

LiNDQUIST. 

Haven't  two  young  persons  the  right  to  keep 
their  heart  secrets  from  you? 

Elis. 

And  for  their  haj^piness  I  must  suffer  these 
pangs  1 

LiNDQUIST. 

Certainly.  Others  liave  suffered  to  bring  you 
happiness — your  motlier;  your  father;  your 
sweetheart;  your  sister — sit  down,  and  I'll  tell 
you  a  story. — It's  very  short.  [Elis  seats  him- 
self reluctantly.]  It  happened  about  forty 
years  ago.  When  a  youth,  I  came  to  the  Capi- 
tol— alone,  unknown  and  inexperienced — to 
seek  employment.  I  had  only  one  riksdaler  to 
my  name.  The  night  was  dark,  and  as  I  knew 
of  no  cheap  hotel,  I  questioned  passers-by. 
None  replied.  Wlien  I  was  in  the  depths,  a 
man  stepped  uj^  to  me  and  asked  why  I  was 
weeping — I   wept,   evidently.     I   told   him   my 

134 


EASTER 


straits.  He  turned  out  of  his  way,  accom- 
panied me  to  a  hotel,  and  comforted  me  with 
cheering  words.  As  I  stepped  into  a  passage- 
way, the  glass  door  of  a  shop  swung  open; 
it  caught  my  elbow — and  the  glass  was  broken. 
The  rowdy  shopkeeper  held  me  responsible 
and  demanded  payment,  otherwise  he  would 
call  the  police,  he  said.  Imagine  my  dis- 
tress with  a  night  on  the  street  in  prospect! 
The  kind-hearted  stranger,  who  had  witnessed 
the  performance,  took  the  trouble  to  call  an 
officer,  and  rescued  me.  This  man  was  your 
father.  Thus,  everything  comes  back  to  us — 
even  the  good.  And,  for  your  father's  sake,  I 
have  wiped  out  the  debt.  Accept  this  paper  and 
keep  the  check.  [Rising.]  As  it  is  hard  for 
you  to  say  thanks,  I'll  go  at  once  as  I  find  it 
rather  painful  to  be  thanked.  [Going  toward 
centre  door.]  Instead,  go  immediately  to  your 
mother  and  relieve  her  anxiety.  [Elis  rushes 
off,  right.] 

[Centre  door  opens;  Eleonora  and  Benjamin 

come    on.     They    are    calm,    hut    serious. 

They  stop,  terrified,  ivhen  they  see  Lind- 

quist.]     Well,  well,  youngsters,  step  along 

135 


EASTER  AND  STORIES 


and  don't  be  frightened!  Do  you  know 
who  I  am?  [hi  assumed  voice.]  I  am 
the  giant  in  the  Skinnervik  Mountains, 
who  frightens  children — Boo,  boo!  But 
I'm  not  so  dangerous!  Come  here,  Eleo- 
nora!  [He  takes  her  head  between  his 
hands  and  looks  into  her  eyes.]  You  have 
your  father's  good  eyes;  and  he  was  a  good 
man — but  weak.  [Kissing  her  on  the  fore- 
head.]    There! 

Eleonora. 

Oh,  he  speaks  well  of  father!     Can  any  one 
think  well  of  him? 

LiNDQUIST. 

I  can — ask  brother  Elis ! 

Eleonora. 
Then  you  cannot  wish  us  any  harm. 


LiNDQUIST. 

No,  you  precious  child ! 
136 


EASTER 


Eleonoka. 
Help  us,  then! 

LiNDQUIST. 

Child,  I  cannot  help  your  father  escape  his 
punishment,  nor  help  Benjamin  out  of  his  fail- 
ure to  pass  in  Latin,  but  the  other  matter  is  al- 
ready helped.  Life  doesn't  give  everything — 
and  nothing  gratis;  therefore  you  must  help 
me.    "Will  you? 

Eleonoka. 
Poor  me!    What  can  I  do? 

LiNDQUIST. 

What  date  is  this  I     Look  and  see. 

Eleonoea. 

[Taking  down  date  calendar.']  It  is  the  six- 
teenth. 

LiNDQUIST. 

Good!  Before  the  twentieth  you  shall  have 
made  brother  Elis  call  on  the  Governor  and 
write  a  letter  to  Peter. 


137 


EASTER  AND  STORIES 


Eleonoea. 
Is  that  all? 

LiKDQUIST. 

Oh,  yon  child!     But  if  he  fails  to  do  so,  the 
giant  will  come  and  say  boo ! 

Eleonora. 
Why  must  the  giant  come  and  frighten  the 
children  1 

LiNDQUIST. 

So  the  children  will  be  good. 

Eleonora. 
True — and  the  giant  is  right.     [Kissing  Ms 
sleeve.]     Thank  you,  good  giant ! 

Benjamin, 
You  should  say  Herr  Lindquist. — Oh,  I  know 
who  he  is ! 

Eleonora. 
No,  that  is  so  usual — 

Lindquist. 
Good-by   to   you,    children.     Now   you   may 
cast  the  birch  rod  on  the  fire. 

138 


EASTER 


Eleonoka. 

No,  it  must  remain  where  it  is,  for  the  chil- 
dren are  so  forgetful. 

LiNDQUIST. 

How  well  you  know  the  children,  little  one ! 
[He  goes.] 

Eleonoea. 

Now  we  can  go  to  the  country,  Benjamin — in 
two  months!  Oh,  if  they  would  only  go  fast! 
[She  tears  leaflets  from  date  calendar  and  scat- 
ters them  in  the  stream  of  sunshine,  which 
comes  pouring  into  the  room.]  See,  how  the 
days  fly!  April — May — June — and  the  sun 
shines  on  all  of  them. — Look!  Now  you  must 
thank  God,  who  helped  us  so  that  we  can  get  to 
the  country. 

Benjamin. 

[Timidly.]     May  I  say  it  silently? 

Eleonoka. 

Yes,  you  may  say  it  silently,  for  now  the 
clouds  have  passed,  and  it  can  be  heard  up  there. 
[Christina  has  come  on  from  left  and  paused; 
139 


EASTER  AND  STORIES 


Elis  and  Fru  Eeyst  enter  from  right;  Elis 
and  Christina,  with  pleasant  mien,  walk 
toward  each  other,  hut  curtain  falls  before 
they  meet.'\ 


Curtain. 


140 


MIDSUMMERTIDE 


MIDSUMMERTIDE 

At  midsuminertide,  when  the  earth  stands  a 
bride  in  the  Northland;  when  the  ground  re- 
joices; when  the  rivulets  run;  when  the  flowers 
in  the  meadow  stand  erect  and  the  birds  sing, 
then  it  was  that  the  dove  came  from  the  forest 
and  perched  outside  the  hut  where  the  great- 
grandmother  of  ninety  was  bedridden. 

The  old  woman  had  lain  abed  for  twenty 
years,  and  she  could  see  through  the  window  all 
that  happened  on  the  little  plot  of  ground  which 
her  two  sons  cultivated.  But  she  saw  the  world 
and  the  people  in  her  own  peculiar  way,  for  the 
window-panes  were  set  in  all  the  colors  of  the 
rainbow.  She  only  had  to  turn  her  head  a  little 
on  the  i^illow,  and  everything  was  seen  in  suc- 
cession in  red,  yellow,  green,  blue  and  lavender. 
Thus  on  a  winter's  day,  when  the  trees  were 
dressed  in  hoar-frost,  as  if  they  bore  silver 
leaves,  she  turned  on  her  pillow  and  the  trees 
became  green ;  it  was  summer,  and  the  field  be- 

143 


EASTEE  AND  STORIES 


came  yellow,  the  sky,  blue,  even  if  it  was  actually 
gray.  In  this  way  she  fancied  that  she  could 
conjure,  and  she  never  found  the  time  dull.  But 
the  bewitched  panes  had  still  another  gift,  for 
they  were  carved,  so  that  they  showed  what  was 
outside — sometimes  magnified,  sometimes  di- 
minished. 

Thus,  when  her  big  son  came  home  cross, 
and  stormed  out  in  the  yard,  then  the  mother 
wished  him  little  and  good  again,  and  immedi- 
ately she  saw  him  ever  so  little.  Or,  when  the 
great-grandchildren  came  toddling  along  out 
there,  and  she  thought  of  their  future,  then — 
one,  two,  three — they  appeared  in  the  magnify- 
ing glass,  and  she  saw  them  as  tall,  full-grown 
people — perfect  giants! 

But  when  summer  came,  she  let  them  open 
the  window;  for  anything  as  pretty  as  it  was 
out  there,  the  panes  could  not  show  her.  And 
now,  on  Midsummer's  Eve,  when  it  was  the  very 
prettiest,  she  lay  gazing  toward  the  field  and 
the  pasture.  Then  the  dove  struck  up  her 
song.  She  sang  so  sweetly  of  Christ  Jesus  and 
of  Heaven's  joy  and  bliss,  and  she  bade  all  be 

144 


MIDSUMMERTIDE 


welcome,  who  were  heavy  laden  and  had  had 
enough  of  this  life's  hardships. 

The  old  woman  heard,  but  she  declined  with 
many  thanks,  for  the  earth  to-day  was  as  beau- 
tiful as  Heaven  itself  and,  for  herself,  she 
wished  nothing  better  than  this. 

Then  the  dove  flew  across  the  meadow  up  to 
the  mountain-grove,  where  the  farmer  stood 
and  dug  him  a  well.  He  stood  deep  down, 
where  the  ground  was  six  feet  above  his  head, 
exactly  as  if  he  were  in  his  grave. 

The  dove  perched  on  a  branch  and  cooed 
about  the  joys  of  Heaven,  certain  that  the  man 
down  m  the  earth,  who  saw  neither  sky,  sea, 
nor  meadow,  would  long  to  be  up  there. 

"No,"  said  the  farmer,  "I  must  first  dig  a 
well,  or  my  summer  guest  will  get  no  water,  and 
then  the  unhappy  little  lady  and  her  child  will 
leave. ' ' 

The  dove  flew  down  to  the  strand,  where  the 
farmer's  brother  was  dragging  up  nets,  and 
sat  down  in  the  reeds,  to  sing. 

''No,"  said  the  farmer's  brother,  "I  must 
provide  food  for  the  household,  or  the  children 

145 


EASTER  AND  STORIES 


will  cry  with  hunger.  Later  on,  later  on! 
There's  time  enough  for  Heaven!  Life  first, 
then  death." 

The  clove  flew  up  to  the  big  cottage,  where  the 
unhappy  little  lady  spent  her  summers.  She 
was  sitting  on  the  veranda  sewing  with  a  hand- 
machine.  Wliite  as  a  lily  was  her  face  under 
the  red  felt  hat,  which,  like  a  poppy,  nestled  on 
her  black  hair — black  as  a  mourning  veil !  She 
was  stitching  a  pretty  pinafore  for  the  little 
one,  to  be  worn  on  Midsummer's  Eve;  and  the 
child  sat  on  the  floor  at  her  feet  and  cut  into 
bits  strips  of  cloth  that  had  been  given  her. 

"Why  doesn't  papa  come  home?"  asked  the 
little  one. 

This  was  just  the  hard  question,  which  the 
young  mother  herself  could  not  answer,  and 
certainly  not  the  father,  either,  who  in  a  strange 
land  nursed  his  grief,  which  was  even  greater 
than  the  mother's. 

The  sewing  machine  worked  badly,  but  it 
stitched  and  stitched — as  many  needle  pricks  as 
a  human  heart  can  stand  before  it  bleeds  to 
death,  and  every  stitch  bound  the  thread  tighter, 
tighter — ^how  strange! 

146 


MIDSUMMERTIDE 


"I  want  to  go  to  tlie  village  to-day,  mamma," 
said  the  little  one.  "And  I  want  to  see  the  sun, 
for  it  is  so  dark  here !" 

*'You  shall  go  to  the  sun  this  afternoon,  my 
child." 

It  was  certainly  dark  between  the  high  cliffs 
on  this  shore  of  the  island,  and  the  cottage  stood 
in  amongst  shadowy  pines,  which  hid  the  view — 
even  of  the  sea. 

''And  then  I  want  you  to  buy  lots  of  play- 
things for  me,  mamma. ' ' 

' '  Child,  we  have  so  little  to  buy  with ! ' '  replied 
the  mother,  her  head  bending  lower  and  lower. 
And  this  was  the  truth,  for  affluence  had  been 
turned  into  penury. 

But  now,  when  she  saw  the  child's  mournful 
expression,  she  took  her  in  her  lap. 

"Put  your  arms  around  mamma's  neck!" 
said  she. 

The  little  one  did  so. 

' '  Give  mamma  a  kiss ! ' ' 

And  she  got  one  from  a  little  half-open 
mouth,  like  a  birdling's.  And  when  the  mother 
won  a  glance  from  those  eyes — blue  as  hya- 
cinths— her  beautiful  face  reflected  the  child's 

147 


EASTER  AND  STORIES 


care-free  innocence,  and  slie  herself  looked  like 
a  little  child  in  the  sunlight. 

' '  Here  I  shall  not  sing  of  the  Heavenly  King- 
dom," thought  the  dove.  ''But  if  I  can  serve 
them,  I  will." 

And  then  she  flew  to  the  sun-village,  where 
she  had  work  to  perform. 

Now  it  was  afternoon.  The  little  lady  took 
her  basket  on  her  arm  and  the  child  by  the  hand, 
to  go.  She  had  never  been  in  the  village,  but 
she  knew  that  it  lay  in  the  direction  of  the  sun- 
set, on  the  other  side  of  the  island,  and  the 
farmer  had  told  her  that  there  were  six  fenced- 
in  farms  and  six  gates  before  you  got  there. 

And  so  they  went. 

First  they  came  to  a  steep  path,  with  stones 
and  tree-stumps,  so  the  little  one  had  to  be  car- 
ried ;  and  that  was  heavy  enough ! 

The  doctor  had  forbidden  the  child  to  strain 
her  left  foot,  for  it  was  so  frail  that  it  might 
easily  grow  crooked. 

The  young  mother  sank  under  the  precious 
burden,  and  the  sweat-drops  trickled  down  her 
face,  for  it  was  warm  in  the  forest. 

148 


MIDSUMMERTIDE 


"I'm  so  thirsty,  manuna!"  wailed  the  little 
girl. 

"Darling  child,  try  to  be  patient  and  you 
shall  have  water  as  soon  as  we  are  there. ' ' 

She  kissed  the  little  one's  dry  baby  lips,  and 
then  the  child  smiled,  forgetting  her  thirst. 

But  the  sun  burned  and  the  air  did  not  stir 
in  the  forest. 

"Now  you  must  try  and  walk  a  little,"  said 
the  mother,  putting  the  child  down. 

"I'm  so  tired,  mamma!"  moaned  the  little 
one,  and  sat  down  to  cry. 

But  on  the  ground  grew  the  prettiest  little 
rose-red  flowers,  that  exhaled  a  scent  of  almond. 
The  child  had  never  before  seen  such  tiny  flow- 
ers, and  she  smiled  again  so  that  the  mother 
grew  strong  in  spirit  and  could  continue  the 
journey,  with  the  child  on  her  arm. 

Now  they  had  reached  the  first  gate  and  they 
walked  through  it,  taking  pains  to  latch  it  again. 

Then  was  heard  a  cry,  like  a  loud  whinnying, 
and  a  runaway  horse  dashed  forward ;  he  stood 
in  the  middle  of  the  road  and  neighed.  And  his 
neighing  was  answered  in  the  forest,  right  and 

149 


EASTEE  AND  STOEIES 


left,  and  all  around;  and  the  ground  trembled, 
and  the  branches  shook,  and  the  stones  flew. 
The  two  forlorn  human  beings  stood  there,  in 
the  midst  of  a  score  of  wild  horses. 

The  child  hid  her  face  on  her  mother's  breast 
and  her  little  heart  ticked,  like  a  watch,  with 
anguish. 

''I'm  so  frightened!"  she  whispered. 

"0  God  in  Heaven — help  us!"  prayed  the 
mother. 

Then  a  sun  scoter's  song  was  heard  in  the 
pines,  and  see!  that  instant  the  horses  ran  off 
in  different  directions,  and  all  was  quiet  again. 
Then  they  passed  through  the  second  gate  and 
fastened  the  hasp. 

Beyond  lay  a  fallow  field,  where  the  sun 
burned  even  hotter  than  in  the  forest.  The 
earth-clods  lay  in  long  gray  rows,  but,  suddenly 
they  saw  the  clods  move,  and  they  were  the 
backs  of  a  flock  of  sheep. 

Sheep  are  good  animals,  particularly  the 
lambs,  but  the  ram  is  not  to  be  played  with,  for 
he  is  a  mischievous  beast  who  willingly  attacks 
those  who  have  done  him  no  harm.  And  now 
he  came  to  the  middle  of  the  road,  jumping  the 

150 


MIDSUMMERTIDE 


ditch.  He  lowered  his  head  and  walked  back- 
wards. 

*'I  am  so  frightened,  mamma!"  said  the  little 
one,  and  her  heart  thumped. 

*'0  merciful  God  in  Heaven,  help  ns !"  sighed 
the  mother,  looking  beseechingly  up  toward  the 
blue  canopy.  And  there  rested,  fluttering  like 
a  butterfly,  a  little  lark.  And  when  it  began 
to  sing,  the  ram  disappeared  among  the  gray 
clods. 

Then  they  came  to  the  third  gate.  Here  the 
ground  began  to  sink.  It  was  wet  and  swampy. 
The  grass-tufts  were  like  little  graves  strewn 
with  white  flowers — woolen  flowers  or  cotton 
flowers.  It  meant  walking  straight  so  as  not 
to  sink  down  in  the  mire.  Here  there  grew 
blackberries  that  were  poisonous  and  these  the 
little  one  wanted  to  pick,  but  wasn't  allowed  to; 
therefore  she  was  sad — for  she  didn't  under- 
stand what  poisonous  meant. 

As  they  walked  along  they  noticed  something 
whitish  coming  forward  between  the  trees. 
The  sun  was  hidden  and  a  white  mist  arose 
around  them,  which  was  ghastly! 

In  this  misty  whiteness  a  head  with  two 
151 


EASTER  AND  STORIES 


twisted  liorns  stuck  out.  Then  the  head  bel- 
lowed and  several  heads  were  visible — many — 
they  came  nearer  and  nearer. 

"I'm  afraid,  mamma!"  whispered  the  child. 
"I'm  so  afraid!" 

The  mother  stepped  aside  and  sank  between 
two  grass-tufts,  into  the  marsh. 

"0  God,  great  and  merciful,  have  pity  on 
us ! "  cried  the  mother  from  the  depths  of  her 
soul. 

And  now  the  wind  was  heard.  The  strong  sea 
wind  came  rushing  through  the  forest.  The 
trees  bowed  themselves  humbly  before  the 
Great  Spirit  and  a  young  pine  bent  itself  down. 
It  whispered  something  from  its  crown  into  the 
ear  of  the  forlorn  mother,  and  when  she  had 
grasped  a  branch  with  her  free  hand,  the  pine 
straightened  itself  and  lifted  the  disconsolate 
woman  out  of  the  mire. 

The  mist  was  blown  away  that  instant,  the 
sun  shone  again  and  now  they  stood  by  the 
fourth  gate.  The  mother,  who  had  lost  her 
hat,  dried  the  child's  tears  with  her  black  hair, 
and  when  the  little  one  smiled  at  this,  it  shone 
in  the  poor  mother-heart.     She  forgot  all  the 

152 


MIDSUMMERTIDE 


hardships  she  had  passed  through,  and  gained 
new  strength  to  reach  the  fifth  gate.  Then  her 
spirits  brightened,  for  she  saw  red  tile  roofs 
and  flags,  and  alongside  the  road  grew  snow- 
ball bushes  and  wild  roses — two  and  two — just 
as  if  they  loved  each  other,  the  white  snow-ball 
bush  and  the  pink  wild  rose. 

The  little  girl  could  walk  now,  and  she  picked 
the  basket  full  of  flowers,  upon  which  the  doll 
Lisa  was  to  sleep  on  Midsummer  night,  so  she 
would  have  beautiful  dreams. 

Thus  they  played  their  way  forward,  care- 
free once  more,  for  they  had  only  a  birch  grove 
left,  and  then  they  would  be  there!  Now  the 
road  went  up  a  little  hillock,  and  when  they 
came  to  the  top  and  turned  toward  the  right, 
the  bull  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  path ! 

It  was  impossible  to  flee.  Prostrate,  the 
mother  dropped  to  her  knees,  laid  the  child  on 
the  ground,  bent  her  head  protectingly  down, 
so  that  the  long  hair  hung  like  a  black  veil,  and, 
with  outstretched  hands,  she  prayed  a  silent 
prayer.  From  the  child's  brow  the  sweat  of 
anguish  dripped  down  upon  the  ground,  like 
blood-drops. 

153 


EASTEE  AND  STORIES 


"0  God!"  she  prayed,  "take  my  life,  but 
spare  the  little  one  ! ' ' 

Then  she  heard  wing-strokes  in  the  air,  and 
as  she  glanced  up,  a  white  dove  flew  toward  the 
village;  but  the  bull  was  gone. 

When  she  looked  around  for  her  child,  the 
little  one  sat  by  the  roadside  and  picked  straw- 
berries. And  then  she  understood  whence  they 
had  come! 

They  walked  through  the  sixth  gate  and  wan- 
dered into  the  town. 

It  lay  in  the  sunlight,  by  a  green-bordered 
creek,  beneath  great  lindens  and  maples.  And 
on  a  hill  were  seen  the  white  church  with  the 
red  belfry  tower,  the  parish  garden,  with  lilacs 
in  bloom,  the  post  office  almost  buried  in  jas- 
min, and  the  gardener's  place  behind  the  great 
oak.  Everything  stood  there  so  bright-like! 
The  flags  floated  in  the  breeze;  small  boats 
edged  the  shores  and  bridges,  and  one  could  see 
that  it  was  Midsummer's  Eve. 

But  they  met  no  human  being.  First  they 
were  going  to  the  shop,  to  trade,  and  there  the 
little  girl  would  get  something  to  drink. 

When  they  arrived,  the  shop  was  closed. 
154 


MIDSUMMERTIDE 


"I'm  so  thirsty,  mamma!" 

They  went  to  the  post  office. 

That  was  closed. 

"  I  'm  so  hungry,  mamma ! ' ' 

The  mother  was  mute,  for  she  did  not  com- 
prehend why  it  was  closed  on  a  week  day,  and 
why  there  were  no  people  about.  She  went  to 
the  gardener's.  There  it  was  closed,  and  a  big 
dog  lay  stretched  out  before  the  gate. 

"I'm  so  tired,  mamma!" 

' '  So  am  I,  my  child,  but  we  must  find  a  drink 
of  water." 

They  went  from  house  to  house,  but  every 
door  was  shut.  The  child  could  not  walk  far- 
ther, for  her  little  foot  was  tired,  and  she 
limped.  When  the  mother  saw  the  pretty  little 
form  bent  sideways,  she  too  grew  weary  and 
sat  down  on  the  roadside,  with  the  child  on  her 
lap.    And  the  little  one  fell  asleep. 

Then  a  dove  was  heard  singing  in  a  lilac  bush, 
and  she  sang  so  sweetly  of  Heaven's  joys  and 
of  the  Earth's  perpetual  pain  and  sorrow. 

The  mother  looked  upon  the  sleeping  child, 
upon  its  little  upturned  face,  which  was  framed 
in   white   laces,   like   the   flower-petals   of   the 

155 


EASTEE  AND  STORIES 


white  lily,  and  she  felt  that  she  herself  held  the 
Kingdom  of  Heaven  in  her  arms ! 

The  child  awoke  and  begged  for  water. 

The  mother  remained  mute. 

*'I  want  to  go  home,  mamma!"  cried  the 
little  one. 

"The  same  terrible  journej^  back? — Never !  I 
would  rather  go  into  the  sea,"  replied  the 
mother. 

"I  want  to  go  home!" 

The  mother  rose  up.  She  had  seen  young 
birches  in  the  distance,  back  of  a  hillock,  and 
as  she  looked  at  them,  they  began  to  move. 
Then  she  understood  that  over  there  there  were 
loeople  who  had  broken  off  birch  leaves  for 
Midsummer  leaf-bowers.  And  she  betook  her- 
self thither,  where  she  should  find  water. 

On  the  way,  she  noticed  a  little  cottage  en- 
closed by  a  green  hedge,  with  a  white  gate. 
There  the  door  stood  open  and  invited  them  in 
so  pleasantly.  She  passed  through  the  gate 
and  came  into  a  garden,  with  peonies  and  colum- 
bine. Then  she  noticed  that  the  curtains  were 
lowered  at  all  the  windows,  and  that  all  the  cur- 
tains were  white.     But  one  dormer  window  was 

156 


MIDSUMMERTIDE 


open  and,  between  two  palm  leaves,  a  white 
hand  was  seen  waving  a  little  white  handker- 
chief, as  though  it  were  waving  to  someone 
who  was  going  away. 

She  went  up  to  the  stoop  and  there,  in  the 
tall  grass,  lay  a  wreath  of  green  myrtle,  with 
white  roses.  But  it  was  too  large  to  be  a  bridal 
wreath. 

Then  she  stepped  up  on  the  veranda  and 
asked  if  any  one  was  in. 

When  no  one  replied,  she  went  into  the  cot- 
tage. On  the  floor,  in  the  middle  of  a  forest  of 
roses,  stood  a  black  damask  coffin,  with  silver 
feet.  And  in  the  coffin  lay  a  young  girl,  with  a 
bridal-crown  upon  her  head. 

The  walls  of  the  room  were  of  new  rough  pine 
boards,  only  varnished,  so  that  all  the  knots 
were  visible.  And  the  oval  knot-holes,  where 
the  dark  branches  had  been  sawed  off,  looked 
like  eyeballs. 

The  child  first  noticed  the  quaint-looking 
walls,  and  said : 

"See,  how  many  eyes,  mamma!" 

Yes,  there  were  all  sorts  of  eyes :  big,  kindly 
earnest  ones;  little  sparkling  child  eyes,  with 

157 


EASTER  AND  STORIES 


a  smile  in  the  comers ;  angry  eyes  that  showed 
too  much  of  the  white ;  open  watchful  eyes  that 
searched  the  heart.  And  there  was  a  large, 
mild  mother-eye,  that  looked  affectionately  upon 
the  dead  girl.  And  in  the  eye  there  glistened 
a  clear  tear  of  pine  resin,  which,  in  the  setting 
sun,  sparkled  like  a  diamond. 

''Is  the  girl  sleeping?"  asked  the  child,  who 
had  now  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  dead. 

''Yes,  she  is  sleeping." 

"Is  it  a  bride,  manuna?" 

"Yes,  it's  a  bride." 

The  mother  had  recognized  her.  It  was  the 
girl  who  was  to  stand  a  bride  at  Midsummer- 
tide,  when  the  sailor  would  be  home.  But  when 
the  sailor  wrote  that  he  could  not  come  before 
the  autumn,  her  heart  broke,  for  she  did  not 
want  to  wait  till  the  autumn,  when  the  trees  had 
shed  their  leaves  and  the  storms  had  set  in. 

She  had  listened  to  the  dove's  song  and  had 
understood.  Now,  when  the  young  mother  went 
out,  she  knew  whither  she  was  going. 

She  set  the  heavy  basket  down  outside  the 
gate  and  took  the  child  in  her  arms,  directing  her 
steps  out  into  the  next  field,  which  lay  between 

158 


MIDSUMMERTIDE 


her  and  the  strand.  It  was  a  sea  of  flowers  that 
mnrmured  and  whispered  around  her  white 
skirt,  which  was  being  colored  by  ever^^  variety 
of  pollen.  Humming-birds,  bees  and  butterflies 
lifted  their  wings  and,  singing,  flew  before  them 
in  one  great  brocaded  gold-cloud.  She  walked 
with  light  footsteps  down  toward  the  strand. 

Out  on  the  river  she  saw  a  white  sailboat 
coming  with  taut  sails,  straight  toward  the  land- 
ing, but  no  one  was  seen  at  the  helm.  She 
waded  forward,  bathing  in  flowers  and  flower- 
perfumes,  so  that  her  white  petticoat  looked 
like  a  flower  bed,  but  of  much  more  delicate 
colors. 

She  paused  down  by  the  willows  on  the 
strand.  There  was  a  bird's  nest,  between  stem 
and  branch;  and  when  the  tree  swayed  in  the 
evening  breeze,  three  little  downy  birdlings 
were  being  rocked  to  sleep,  and  the  little  one 
wished  to  pat  them. 

''No,  my  child,"  said  the  mother;  "never 
touch  a  bird's  nest." 

And  as  they  stood  there,  on  the  strand-peb- 
bles, the  white  boat  landed  right  at  their  feet, 
but  there  was  not  a  person  in  it. 

159 


EASTEE  AND  STORIES 


Then  slie  took  the  child  and  stepped  on  board, 
and  immediately  the  boat  turned  and  steered 
away  from  the  point. 

When  they  sailed  alongside  the  church  land, 
all  the  bells  began  ringing,  but  so  heartily  and 
joyously ! 

The  boat  glided  away  from  the  point  and 
came  out  upon  the  fjord,  where  the  open  sea 
was  visible. 

The  little  girl  beamed  with  delight  because 
the  water  was  so  calm  and  blue.  And  it  was 
no  longer  water  that  they  sailed  in,  but  beau- 
tiful corn  flowers,  which  she  plucked  with  her 
outstretched  hand. 

And  the  flowers  lowered  and  raised  them- 
selves, like  little  waves  swishing  against  the 
boat.  Endless,  the  field  seemed  to  spread  out 
before  them.  Soon  they  were  engulfed  in  a 
white  mist,  and  they  heard  the  splash  of  waves ; 
but  from  above  the  mist,  rang  the  lark's  trill. 

"How  can  larks  sing  on  the  sea?"  asked  the 
child. 

' '  The  sea  is  so  green  that  the  larks  think  it  a 
meadow,"  replied  the  mother. 

Now  the  mist  was  gone,  the  sky  was  as  blue 
160 


MIDSUMMERTIDE 


as  the  violet,  and  the  larks  rose.  Far  out  in 
the  lake  they  glimpsed  a  verdant  isle,  with  white 
sand-shores  where  people  wandered,  hand  in 
hand.  The  setting  sun  lit  up  the  gilded  dome 
of  a  colonnade,  where  fires  burned  under  holy 
sacrifice-vessels;  and  above  the  isle  a  rainbow 
of  rose-red  and  sea-green  was  drawn. 

''What  is  this,  mamma*?" 

The  mother  could  not  answer. 

"Is  it  the  Heavenly  Kingdom,  that  the  dove 
sang  about?  What  is  the  Heavenly  Kingdom, 
mamma?" 

"It  is  a  place,  child,  where  all  people  are 
friends;  where  there  is  no  sorrow,  and  no 
strife. ' ' 

' '  Then  I  want  to  go  there,  mamma, ' '  said  the 
child. 

"And  I,  too,"  said  the  tired,  forsaken  and 
sorely  tried  mother. 


161 


THE  STONE  MAN 


THE  STONE  MAN 

If  one  stands  by  the  harbor,  where  the  steam- 
boats lie,  and  looks  out  toward  the  sea,  one  sees 
to  the  left  a  mountain  entirely  covered  with 
young  forest  trees,  and  behind  it  stands  a  large 
house  built  in  the  form  of  a  spider.  In  its  cen- 
tre stands  a  wheel  from  which  eight  spokes 
project,  exactly  like  the  legs  on  a  spider's  round 
body.  He  who  happens  to  get  into  that  house 
does  not  come  out  again  when  he  wants  to ;  and 
some  stay  there  a  lifetime.  It  is  the  prison 
house. 

In  the  old  King's  time  the  mountain  was  not 
green.  Then  it  was  gray,  for  nothing  grew 
there,  not  even  moss  or  heart 's-ease,  which 
usually  thrive  on  stony  hills.  There  were  only 
gray  stone  and  gray  people,  who  looked  petri- 
fied and  who  broke  stone,  drilled  stone,  and 
carried  stone.  Among  these  Stone  Age  people 
there  was  one  who  looked  more  petrified  than 

165 


EASTEE  AND  STORIES 


the  rest.  He  was  a  youth  when,  in  the  reign 
of  King  Oscar  the  First,  he  was  shut  up  in  this 
prison  house  because  he  had  killed  a  human 
being. 

Pie  was  a  life  prisoner,  and  on  his  clothes 
were  sewn  the  letters  L.  P.,  in  black. 

Winter  and  summer  he  tramped  the  mountain 
and  pounded  stone.  In  winter  he  saw  the 
steamship  harbor  empty  and  desolate,  and  the 
semicircular  pier  with  its  piles,  yawned  like  a 
mouth  exposing  a  row  of  teeth.  Now  he  could 
see  the  woodshed,  the  riding  school  and  the  two 
gigantic  leafless  lindens.  Once  in  a  while  an 
ice  yacht  came  sailing  past  the  island,  now  and 
then  a  few  boys  on  skates  would  pass;  other- 
wise it  was  quiet  and  deserted. 

When  summer  came  it  grew  livelier.  Then 
the  harbor  was  lined  with  fine  vessels,  newly 
painted  and  flag-bedecked,  and  the  lindens  were 
green — the  lindens  under  which  he  had  sat  as  a 
child  when  awaiting  his  father,  who  was  ma- 
chinist on  one  of  the  prettiest  steamboats. 

Now,  he  had  not  heard  the  wind  blowing 
through  trees  these  many  years;  for  nothing 
grew  on  his  mountain.     But  in  his  memory  the 

166 


THE  STONE  MAN 


rustling  of  the  leaves  in  Riddarholmen's  lindens 
lived,  as  the  only  thing  he  longed  for. 

If,  on  a  summer's  day,  a  steamboat  passed 
the  island,  he  heard  the  splash  of  waves  and 
perhaps  a  brass  band.  He  saw  happy  faces 
that  darkened  when  they  sighted  the  gray  stone 
men  on  tiie  mountain. 

Then  he  cursed  heaven  and  earth,  his  fate, 
and  mankind's  cruelty.  Thus  had  he  cursed 
year  in  and  year  out,  and  his  comrades  and  he 
had  cursed  one  another ;  for  crime  severs,  while 
misfortune  unites  sufferers. 

At  first  the  life  here  was  needlessly  hard,  and 
the  gTiards  maltreated  the  convicts  arbitrarily, 
mercilessly. 

But  one  day  there  came  a  change:  the  fare 
became  better,  the  treatment  less  severe,  and 
each  prisoner  was  allowed  to  sleep  in  a  private 
cell.  It  was  the  King  himself  who  had  loosed 
the  prisoners'  bonds  a  little,  but  as  hopeless- 
ness had  hardened  the  hearts  of  these  unfortu- 
nates, they  could  not  feel  anything  that  even 
resembled  gTatitude,  but  continued  to  curse. 
And  now  they  found  it  more  agTeeable  to  live 
in  one  room  so  they  could  chat  at  night.     And 

167 


EASTEE  AND  STORIES 


tliey  grumbled  about  the  food,  the  clothing,  the 
guards,  exactly  as  heretofore. 

One  bright  day  all  the  bells  in  the  city  be- 
gan ringing — Riddarholm's  most  of  all.  King 
Oscar  was  dead,  and  the  convicts  were  granted 
a  holiday.  As  they  could  speak  to  each  other 
now,  they  talked  of  making  their  escape,  of  how 
they  were  going  to  kill  the  guard;  they  even 
talked  of  the  deceased  monarch,  and  they  spoke 
ill  of  him. 

''He  would  have  given  us  our  freedom,  had 
he  been  just,"  said  a  prisoner. 

"Or  else  he  should  have  locked  up  all  the  cul- 
prits who  are  at  large. ' ' 

"Then  he  would  have  had  to  turn  jailer  him- 
self, for  the  whole  nation  would  have  been 
'jugged.'  " 

It  is  thus  with  convicts:  They  regard  all 
persons  as  criminals,  and  think  that  they  them- 
selves were  caught  simply  because  luck  was 
against  them. 

Meanwhile,  it  was  a  hot  summer's  day  when 
the  stone  man  wandered  around  on  the  strand 
and  listened  to  the  tolling  of  the  bells  for  Oscar 
the  Mild.     He  searched  under  the  strand-peb- 

168 


THE  STONE  MAN 


bles  for  bullheads  and  stickleback,  but  there 
was  none.  Out  in  the  water  neither  roach  nor 
alburn  was  seen,  and  consequently  no  sea-gulls 
or  swallows  appeared.  Then  he  felt  that  a 
curse  rested  upon  the  place,  since  not  even 
fishes  or  birds  would  come  near  it. 

Again  he  was  reminded  of  his  fate !  He  had 
lost  his  name  and  was  simply  number  65 — a 
name  written  in  ciphers  instead  of  letters !  He 
was  not  registered ;  paid  no  taxes ;  did  not  know 
how  old  he  was.  He  was  no  longer  a  man;  no 
longer  alive — neither  was  he  dead.  He  was 
only  a  gray  object  that  moved  on  the  mountain 
and  which  the  sun  burned  frightfully — burned 
its  clothes,  its  head  with  the  close-cropped  hair, 
which  had  once  been  curls  brushed  and  combed 
by  a  mother's  soft  hand.  To-day  he  was  not 
allowed  to  wear  a  cap,  lest  with  it  he  could 
more  easily  make  his  escape.  And  when  the 
sun  pierced  his  skull,  he  remembered  a  story 
of  the  prophet  Jonah,  to  whom  the  Lord  had 
given  a  gourd,  that  he  might  sit  under  its 
shadow. 

' '  Then  what  did  he  get ! ' '  sneered  he ;  for  he 
believed  in  nothing  good — absolutely  nothing. 

169 


EASTEE  AND  STOEIES 


Just  then  he  happened  to  see  rocking  in  the 
surf  a  big  birch  bough.  It  was  quite  green, 
with  a  white  stem,  and  may  have  dropped  from 
an  excursion  boat.  He  dragged  it  ashore,  shook 
the  water  off  it  and  took  it  along  with  him  to  a 
crevice  in  the  mountain  a  good  distance  away, 
where  he  propped  it  between  three  stones. 
Then  he  seated  himself  under  the  birch  and 
heard  the  wind  blowing  softly  through  the 
leaves,  which  wafted  a  scent  of  finest  resin. 

When  he  had  sat  a  while  in  the  cooling  shade, 
he  fell  asleep. 

And  he  dreamed: 

The  mountain  was  a  verdant  grove,  with 
beautiful  trees  and  fragrant  blossoms.  But  all 
by  itself  stood  a  tree  with  which  he  was  un- 
familiar, and  this  tree  was  more  beautiful  than 
the  rest,  for  it  had  a  number  of  trunks,  as  a 
bush  has  stems,  and  the  branches  formed  figures 
and  knots  as  intricate  and  fine  as  crochet  work. 
And  under  its  smooth,  shiny  leaves  sat  a  little 
black  and  white  bird  that  looked  like  a  swallow, 
but  was  not  one. 

And  in  the  dream  he  could  interpret  bird- 
notes,  therefore  he  heard  and  understood  fairly 

170 


THE  STONE  MAN 


well  what  the  bird  was  singing.  It  sang: 
"Dirt,  dirt,  dirt,  dirt,  there!  Heave,  heave, 
heave,  heave,  here !  In  dirt,  in  dirt,  in  dirt  died 
you!  From  the  dirt,  the  dirt,  the  dirt  rose 
you!" 

It  was  about  dirt,  about  death,  and  about  the 
resurrection,  that  much  he  understood. 

But  the  dream  went  on. 

He  stood  on  the  mountain,  alone,  in  the  blast- 
ing sunshine,  burning  up  with  hunger  and 
thirst.  All  the  comrades  had  cast  him  off  and 
had  threatened  his  life,  because  he  would  not 
help  them  set  fire  to  the  prison.  They  crowded 
behind  him  and  hunted  him  with  stones  as  far 
as  he  could  go  on  the  mountain.  And  now  he 
was  hemmed  in  by  a  wall.  He  saw  no  possible 
chance  of  scaling  it,  so  in  his  despair  he  decided 
to  d^sh  his  head  against  the  wall,  and  thus  put 
an  end  to  himself. 

He  rushed  down  the  slope — and  look!  That 
instant  a  gate  opened,  a  green  garden  gate  and 
— then  he  woke  up. 

When  he  thought  of  his  plight  and  saw  that 
the  lovely  grove  had  narrowed  down  to  a  birch 
bough,  he  became  dissatisfied  in  his  mind  and 

171 


EASTER  AND  STORIES 


said  to  himself ;  "  If  at  least  it  had  been  a  lin- 
den tree!" 

When  he  listened,  he  heard  that  the  birch 
sang  very  lond.  It  sounded  as  when  one  sifts 
sand  and  gravel,  while  for  him  the  linden  could 
play  the  soft,  velvety  heart  tones ! 

The  next  day  the  birch  was  withered  and  gave 
but  little  shade. 

The  day  after  that,  the  leaves  were  dry  as 
paper  and  rattled  like  chattering  teeth. 

Then  he  thought  once  more  of  the  prophet's 
gourd,  and  cursed  when  the  sun  pierced  his 
skull. 


There  was  a  new  king  and  there  was  new  life 
in  the  country's  administration  and  manage- 
ment. 

New  waterways  were  to  be  made  in  the  city, 
so  the  convicts  were  sent  out  in  barges,  to 
dredge. 

It  was  the  first  time  in  many,  many  years 
that  the  stone  man  had  been  away  from  his 
mountain.  He  traveled  by  water  once  more, 
and  saw  much  that  was  new  in  his  native  city: 

172 


THE  STONE  MAN 


saw  the  railway  and  the  steam  engine  for  the 
first  time! 

It  was  below  the  station  that  they  were  to 
dredge.  Presently  they  began  to  hoist  all  the 
impurities  there  were  on  the  lake-bottom;  up 
came  drowned  cats  and  old  shoes,  putrid  grease 
from  the  tallow  candle  factory,  color  pigments 
from  the  dye  works,  tan  bark  from  the  tannery, 
and  all  the  human  filth  which  washerwomen  for 
a  hundred  years  had  rinsed  out  in  the  public 
washhouse. 

And  there  came  a  stench  of  sulphur  and  am- 
monia so  insufferable  that  only  convicts  could 
stand  it ! 

But  when  the  barge  was  loaded,  the  prisoners 
wondered  where  all  this  filth  was  to  be  dumped. 
They  got  the  answer  when  the  boatman  set  sail 
for  their  own  mountain. 

There  all  the  dirt  was  unloaded  and  spread 
so  that  the  air  soon  became  polluted.  They 
waded  in  filth,  and  they  soiled  their  clothes, 
hands,  faces ! 

''This  is  hell!"  said  the  prisoners. 

For  two  years  they  dredged  and  unloaded  on 
the  mountain,  which  was  finally  immersed. 

173 


EASTER  AND  STORIES 


The  white  winter  snow  fell  every  late  autumn 
and  drew  the  white  coverlet,  with  the  white 
sheets,  over  all  the  impurity. 

When  the  last  spring  came  and  the  snow 
thawed,  the  bad  odor  was  gone  and  the  filth 
began  to  look  like  soil.  That  spring  the  dredg- 
ing was  over  and  our  stone  man  was  ordered  to 
the  smithy,  so  he  never  came  out  on  the  moun- 
tain any  more.  But  once,  in  the  autumn,  he 
stole  out,  and  saw  something  marvelous ! 

Weeds  grew  in  the  filth — ugly,  greasy  weeds, 
to  be  sure — mostly  brownwort,  not  unlike  nettle, 
but  with  brown  blossoms,  which  is  ugly;  for 
flowers  should  be  white,  yellow,  blue  or  red. 
There  were  real  nettles,  also,  with  green  blos- 
soms, and  burdock,  sorrel,  thistle  and  pigweed 
— all  the  ugly,  stinging,  pricking,  ill-smelling 
weeds  that  mortals  do  not  love,  but  which  fol- 
low rubbish  heaps,  burned  lots  and  mud  dumps. 

'*We  cleaned  out  the  lake  and  got  the  dirt," 
said  the  convict.    ''There's  gratitude  for  you!" 

Then  came  a  time  when  he  was  transferred  to 
a  new  mountain,  which  was  to  be  turned  into 
a  fortress,  and  again  he  worked  in  stone,  stone, 
stone  I 

174 


THE  STONE  MAN 


There  be  lost  an  eye,  and  was  beaten  now  and 
tben ;  and  tbere  be  remained  so  long  that  mean- 
time tbe  new  King  died  and  was  succeeded  by 
another. 

On  tbe  day  of  tbe  coronation  one  prisoner 
was  to  be  pardoned,  and  set  at  liberty.  Tbe 
one  who  bad  conducted  bimself  best  and  like- 
wise bad  come  to  a  full  realization  of  tbe  fact 
tbat  be  bad  done  wrong,  was  to  be  pardoned. 
Tben  tbe  other  convicts  felt  tbat  an  injustice 
bad  been  done  them,  for  in  their  circles  one  who 
is  sorry  for  a  thing  for  which  be  is  "not  re- 
sponsible" is  regarded  as  a  cringing  wretch. 

Thus  the  years  came  and  went.  Our  stone 
man  was  now  very  old,  and  being  too  feeble  for 
heavier  work,  be  was  taken  back  to  bis  own 
mountain  and  put  to  sewing  sacks. 

One  day  the  clergyman  paused  by  the  stone 
man,  where  he  sat  and  sewed. 

"Well!"  said  the  clergyman,  "will  you  never 
leave  here?" 

"How  could  that  be  possible?"  returned  tbe 
stone  man. 

"AYben  you  realize  that  you  have  done 
wrong — ' ' 

175 


EASTEE  AND  STORIES 


"When  I  see  a  Imman  being  who  does  more 
than  right,  tlien  I'll  believe  that  I  am  in  the 
wrong.     But  that  I  shall  never  see." 

"  'More  than  right?' — that  would  be  mercy. 
May  you  soon  know  that!" 

One  day  the  stone  man  was  sent  out  to  make 
roads  on  the  mountain  which  he  had  not  seen 
for  twenty  years,  perhaps. 

It  was  a  summer's  day,  and  warm,  and  the 
boats  steamed  noisily  past,  gorgeous  as  butter- 
flies. 

When  he  came  out  on  the  point,  he  saw  no 
longer  a  mountain,  but  a  lovely  green  grove, 
where  the  foliage  shimmered  in  the  breeze,  like 
little  ripples  on  the  lake.  There  were  tall  white 
birches  and  quivering  aspens,  and  on  the  strand 
stood  alders. 

It  was  as  in  the  dream ! 

And  under  the  trees  the  grass  whispered,  the 
flowers  nodded,  the  humming  birds  flew  and 
butterflies  fluttered.  Many  kinds  of  birds  sang 
there,  but  he  could  not  interpret  their  song, 
hence  he  understood  it  was  not  a  dream. 

The  Mount  of  Damnation  was  turned  into 
176 


THE  STONE  MAN 


blessing,  and  he  conld  not  help  thinking  of  the 
prophet  and  the  gourd. 

"This  is  grace  and  mercy!"  said  something 
within  him — a  voice  or  a  prompting — call  it 
what  you  will. 

And  when  a  steamboat  passed,  the  faces  did 
not  darken  but  brightened  at  the  vision  of  the 
lovely  green.  Yes,  he  thought  that  someone 
waved,  as  is  the  custom  when  one  sails  by  a 
summer  resort. 

He  took  a  step  forward  under  the  soughing 
trees.  They  were  forsooth  no  lindens,  but  he 
dared  not  wish  for  lindens,  lest  the  birches  be 
turned  into  rods ;  that  much  he  had  learned ! 

As  he  walked  down  the  leafy  path,  he  saw  at 
the  end  of  it  a  white  wall  with  a  green  iron  gate, 
and  he  heard  something  playing,  which  was  not 
an  organ,  for  its  movements  were  quicker  and 
merrier. 

Above  the  wall  there  was  a  glimpse  of  the 
pretty  roof  of  a  villa,  and  a  blue  and  yellow  flag 
fluttered  in  the  breeze. 

And  above  the  same  wall  he  saw  a  ball  of 
gay  colors  rise  and  fall.     The  prattle  of  little, 

177 


EASTEE  AXD  STOEIES 


thin  voices  and  the  clatter  of  plates  and  glasses 
told  him  that  a  table  was  being  laid. 

He  came  up  to  the  gate  and  saw — lilacs  in 
bloom !  and  under  them  a  table  was  being  pre- 
pared, children  were  romping,  and  there  was 
singing  and  playing. 

''This  is  Paradise!"  said  a  voice  to  him. 

He  stood  long — and  saw! — so  long  that  he, 
the  old  man,  drooped  from  fatigue;  from  hun- 
ger; from  thirst;  from  all  of  life's  miseries. 

Then  the  gate  opened,  and  out  came  a  little 
white-clad  girl.  She  bore  in  her  hand  a  tray, 
and  on  it  stood  a  glass  of  wine,  the  reddest  he 
had  ever  seen.  The  child  went  up  to  the  old 
man,  straight  up,  and  said: 

"Come,  dear  old  man,  and  you  shall  have 
some  wine." 

The  old  man  accepted,  and  drank.  It  was  rich 
man's  wine,  which  had  come  a  long  way — from 
sunny  lands,  and  it  tasted  like  the  sweetness  of 
a  good  life,  when  at  its  best. 

"This  is  mercy!"  said  his  own  old,  broken 
voice.  "But  you,  child,  should  not  in  your  ig- 
norance have  given  me  the  drink  had  you 
known  who  I  was !     Do  you  know  who  I  am?" 

178 


THE  STOXE  MAN 


"Yes,  YOU  are  a  convict,  of  course,"  the  girl 
replied. 

"You  knew  it — and  yet — This  is  mercy!" 

AVhen  the  old  stone  man  turned  back  he  was 
no  longer  of  stone,  for  something  had  begun  to 
grow  in  him  too. 

And  as  he  turned  past  a  steep  hill,  he  saw  a 
tree  with  many  trunks,  like  a  bush.  It  was  the 
prettiest  of  trees,  a  crab-apple  tree;  but  this 
the  old  man  did  not  know.  In  the  tree  fluttered 
a  little  restless  bird,  which  people  caU  a  "tree- 
swallow,  ' '  although  her  name  is  something  else. 
She  nestled  finally  in  amongst  the  leaves  and 
sang  so  mournfully,  but  sweetly: 

"In  dirt,  in  dirt,  in  dirt  died  you. 
From  the  dirt,  the  dirt,  the  dirt  rose  you." 

It  was  exactly  as  in  the  dream. — And  now  the 
old  man  understood  what  the  tree-swallow 
meant. 


179 


HALF  A  SHEET  OF  PAPER 


HALF  A  SHEET  OF  PAPER 

The  last  moving  van  had  gone.  The  tenant, 
a  young  man  with  a  band  of  mourning  around 
his  hat,  wandered  once  again  through  the  apart- 
ment to  see  if  he  had  not  left  something.  No, 
he  had  forgotten  nothing — nothing  whatever. 
Then  he  went  out  into  the  corridor,  although 
determined  never  to  think  more  of  what  he  had 
lived  through  in  this  apartment. 

But  see !  In  the  corridor,  near  the  telephone, 
there  was  half  a  sheet  of  paper  tacked  up.  It 
was  closely  written,  and  in  several  handwrit- 
ings; some  legible,  in  black  ink;  some,  pencil 
scrawls  in  black  or  red.  There  it  stood — the 
whole  beautiful  romance  that  had  been  played 
in  the  short  time  of  two  years.  All  that  he  tried 
to  forget  was  written  there — a  bit  of  human  his- 
tory on  half  a  sheet  of  paper ! 

He  took  the  sheet  down.  It  was  a  sort  of 
sun-yellowish  scratch  paper,  that  casts  a  sheen. 
He  laid  it  on  the  coping  of  the  porcelain  stove 

183 


EASTER  AND  STORIES 


in  the  sitting  room  and,  bending  over  it,  he  be- 
gan to  read. 

First  stood  her  name:  Alice.  It  was  the 
prettiest  name  he  knew,  because  it  was  his 
sweetheart's — and  the  number  15,  11.  It 
looked  like  a  chant  number  in  church. 

Under  it  stood:  The  Bank.  That  was  his 
work ;  the  sacred  work  that  meant  for  him  and 
her  bread  and  a  home.  But  the  number  was 
crossed,  for  the  bank  had  failed  and  he  had 
been  taken  on  at  another,  after  a  short  period 
of  much  anxiety. 

Then  followed — The  florist's  and  cah  station. 
That  was  when  they  were  engaged,  and  when  he 
had  a  pocketful  of  money. 

Then :  The  furniture  dealer;  the  decorator — 
He  sets  ujo  house.  Express  Bureau — They 
move  in.  Opera  Box-office — 50,  50 — They  are 
newly  wed  and  go  to  the  opera  on  Sundays. 
Their  best  moments  are  when  they  both  sit  in 
silence  and  meet  in  beauty  and  harmony  in  the 
fairyland  on  the  other  side  of  the  curtain. 

Here  followed  a  man's  name,  which  was 
crossed  out.  It  was  that  of  a  friend  who  had 
reached  a  certain  height  in  the  community  but 

184 


HALF  A  SHEET  OF  PAPER 

who  could  not  stand  success,  hence  fell,  ir- 
remediably, and  had  to  travel  far  away.  So 
ephemeral  is  that  will-o'-the-wisp,  success! 

Here  something  new  seems  to  have  entered 
the  lives  of  the  couple.  Written  with  a  lead 
pencil  in  a  woman's  hand  stands:  The  Sister. 
Which  sister? — Ah!  the  one  with  the  big  gray 
cloak  and  the  sweet,  sympathetic  face,  who 
comes  so  softly  and  never  goes  through  the 
drawing  room,  but  takes  the  corridor  way  to 
the  bedroom.  Under  her  name  is  written: 
Doctor  L. 

Here  first  appears  the  name  of  a  relative. — 
It  says:  Mamma.  That  is  the  mother-in-law, 
who  has  discreetly  kept  out  of  the  way  so  as  not 
to  disturb  the  newly  married.  But  now  she  is 
called,  in  the  hour  of  need,  and  comes  gladly, 
since  she  is  wanted. 

Here  begins  a  big  scrawl  in  blue  and  red: 
The  Intelligence  Office — The  servant  has  left, 
or  a  new  one  is  to  be  engaged. 

The  apothecary — H-m! — It  darkens.  The 
dairy.  Here  milk  is  ordered — sterilized  milk. 
The  grocer — the  butcher,  and  others. 

The  household  needs  begin  to  be  conducted 
185 


EASTER  AND  STORIES 


by  telephone.  Then  the  mistress  of  the  home  is 
not  in  her  usual  place?  No,  for  she  lies  sick 
abed. 

That  which  followed  he  could  not  read,  for  it 
began  to  grow  dim  before  his  eyes,  as  it  must  do 
for  the  drowning  man  at  sea  when  he  would 
look  through  salt  water;  but  it  stood  there! — • 
The  undertaker.  That  tells  enough! — a  larger 
and  a  smaller  casket.  And  in  jDarenthesis  was 
written:     "Of  dust." 

Then  there  was  nothing  more.  It  ended  with 
dust,  as  it  always  does. 

But  he  took  the  sun-yellow  paper,  kissed  it, 
and  put  it  in  his  breast  pocket. 

In  two  minutes  he  had  lived  through  two 
years  of  his  life. 

He  was  not  bent  when  he  walked  out.  On  the 
contrary,  he  carried  his  head  high,  like  a  proud 
and  happy  man,  for  he  felt  that  once  he  had 
possessed  the  sweetest  thing  in  life.  How  many 
unfortunates  there  are,  alas!  who  have  never 
had  this. 


186 


THE  SLEEPY-HEAD 


THE  SLEEPY-HEAD 

Capellmeister  Kreutzbeeg  was  a  man  who 
loved  to  sleep  in  the  morning,  not  only  because 
he  played  in  the  orchestra  evenings,  but  also 
because  he  drank  more  than  one  glass  of 
beer  before  retiring.  It  is  quite  likely  that  he 
had  thought  of  rising  earlier,  but  he  saw  no 
sense  in  it.  If  he  called  to  see  a  friend  in  the 
morning,  the  man  was  sure  to  be  asleep;  if  he 
wished  to  deposit  money  in  the  bank,  that  was 
closed;  if  he  wanted  to  borrow  music  at  the 
music  dealer's,  the  shop  wasn't  open,  and  if  he 
had  occasion  to  ride  in  a  tram  car,  it  hadn't 
started  running.  No  cab  could  he  get  so  early 
in  the  morning,  and  not  even  his  snuff !  Noth- 
ing could  he  accomplish  thus  early;  therefore, 
he  continued  to  sleep  far  into  the  forenoon — 
and  this  was  what  he  wished  to  do  of  course. 

He   loved  both   sun   and  flowers,   and  little 
children  too,  but  he  could  not  live  on  the  sunny 

189 


EASTER  AND  STORIES 


side  on  account  of  his  fine  instruments,  for  they 
did  not  keep  in  tune  in  sunny  rooms.  So  the  first 
of  April  he  leased  an  apartment — one  facing 
north.  This  he  made  sure  of,  for  he  wore  a 
compass  on  his  watch  chain  and  knew  where 
''The  Dipper"  hung  at  night. 

Now  spring  had  come,  and  it  grew  so  warm 
that  it  was  a  veritable  blessing  to  live  in  north 
rooms. 

The  sleeping  room  was  back  of  the  sitting 
room,  and  where  he  slept,  with  the  Venetian 
blinds  drawn,  it  was  always  pitch  dark.  But 
there  were  no  Venetian  blinds  in  the  sitting 
room,  for  there  they  were  not  needed. 

Then  along  came  summer — and  green.  The 
capellmeister  had  dined  at  Hasselbacken  the 
night  before,  therefore  he  slept  long  and  well, 
especially  as  the  theatre  had  been  closed  that 
day. 

He  certainly  did  sleep !  But  it  grew  so  warm 
in  the  room  that  he  waked — or  thought  himself 
awake  a  couple  of  times.  Once,  he  fancied  that 
the  wall  paper  was  burning,  but  that  may  have 
been  the  burgundy  he  had  drunk;  and  once  he 
felt  something  hot  in  his  face.     That  was  surely 

190 


THE  SLEEPY-HEAD 


the  burgundy !  So  he  turned  over  and  went  to 
sleep  again. 

About  half  after  ten  he  arose,  dressed  him- 
self and  went  into  the  sitting  room  to  cool  off 
with  a  glass  of  milk,  which  always  stood  in 
readiness  of  a  morning. 

But  it  was  not  cool  in  the  sitting  room  to-day. 
It  was  warm — too  warm!  Nor  was  the  milk 
cold;  it  was  lukewarm — distastefully  so! 

The  capellmeister  was  not  an  irritable  man, 
but  he  liked  regularity  in  all  things,  so  he 
rang  for  old  Louisa.  As  he  had  already  stated 
his  objections  fifty  times  and  more,  he  addressed 
Louisa  in  a  pleasant  but  somewhat  positive  tone 
when  she  poked  her  head  in  at  the  door. 

"Louisa,"  he  said,  *'you  have  given  me  luke- 
warm milk!" 

"No,  master,"  Louisa  retorted.  "It  was 
cold,  but  it  has  stood  long  and  become  luke- 
warm. ' ' 

"You  have  gone  and  made  a  fire;  it's  suffo- 
catingly hot  in  the  room ! ' ' 

No,  she  had  not  made  a  fire.  And  the  of- 
fended Louisa  retreated  into  her  comer. 

As  for  the  milk,  that  could  be  passed  over, 
191 


EASTER  AND  STORIES 


but  when  the  capellmeister  glanced  around  the 
room,  he  was  distressed.  He  had  built  him  a 
shrine  in  a  corner,  near  the  piano,  which  con- 
sisted of  a  small  table  with  two  silver  candle- 
sticks and  a  large  photograph  of  a  young 
woman ;  and  before  it  stood  a  tall,  gold-rimmed 
champagne  glass. 

In  this  glass — his  wedding  glass — (he  was  a 
widower  now)  it  was  his  custom  to  place  each 
day  a  red  rose  as  a  reminder,  and  as  a  tribute 
to  her  who  had  been  his  life 's  sun.  Winter  and 
summer  a  rose  stood  there.  In  winter  it  kept 
a  week,  if  he  trimmed  the  stem  and  put  a  little 
salt  in  the  water.  Yesterday  he  had  placed  a 
perfectly  fresh  rose  in  the  glass,  and  to-day  it 
was  withered,  shrunken,  dead ! — its  head  droop- 
ing upon  its  breast.  That  was  an  evil  omen, 
lie  knew,  to  be  sure,  what  sensitive  things 
these  flowers  were,  and  had  observed  with  what 
persons  they  did  and  did  not  thrive.  He  re- 
called how  sometimes,  when  his  wife  was  living, 
her  rose — which  she  always  had  to  have  on  her 
sewing  table — would  not  thrive,  but  faded  un- 
expectedly. And  he  had  also  observed  that  it 
happened  just  when  his  "sun"  chose  to  go  be- 

192 


THE  SLEEPY-HEAD 


hind  a  cloud,  which,  after  an  oppressive  rum- 
bling, resolved  itself  into  drops.  The  roses 
wanted  peace  and  loving  words  and  could  not 
endure  harsh  tones.  They  loved  music,  and 
sometimes  he  played  to  the  roses  so  that  they 
expanded  and  smiled. 

Now,  Louisa  had  a  harsh  temper,  and  used 
to  go  about  the  house  grumbling  to  herself  when 
she  put  the  rooms  in  order.  And  she  had  tem- 
pestuous days  out  in  the  kitchen,  when  the 
sauce  curdled  and  all  the  food,  for  that  matter, 
took  on  an  unpleasant  flavor  which  the  capell- 
meister  instantly  detected,  for  he  himself  was  a 
sensitive  instrument  who  felt  in  his  soul  what 
others  do  not  feel. 

He  guessed  at  once  that  Louisa  had  killed 
the  rose.  Perhaps  she  had  scolded  the  poor 
thing  or  pushed  the  glass,  or  had  breathed  evil 
upon  it — a  flower  couldn't  bear  such  treat- 
ment— so  he  rang  again.  AVhen  Louisa  poked 
her  head  in,  he  said — not  unpleasantly,  but 
somewhat  more  firmly  than  before : 

''What  have  you  done  to  my  rose,  Louisa?" 

** Nothing,  good  master." 

''Nothing?  Do  you  think  the  rose  stands  and 
193 


EASTEE  AND  STORIES 


dies  of  its  own  accord?  You  see,  of  course, 
that  there  is  no  water  in  the  glass.  You  have 
poured  it  out." 

As  Louisa  was  innocent,  she  went  back  into 
the  kitchen  and  wept;  for  it  is  exasperating  to 
be  unjustly  accused. 

Capellmeister  Kreutzberg,  who  couldn't  cope 
with  feminine  tears,  overlooked  trifles.  That 
evening  he  bought  a  new  rose,  a  fresh  one,  with- 
out wire  props  of  course;  for  these  his  wife 
never  could  abide. 

Then  he  went  to  bed  and  slept  on  his  ear. 
He  probably  fancied  that  the  wall  paper  was 
on  fire  and  that  the  pillow  was  hot,  but  never- 
theless went  off  to  sleep.  The  next  morning, 
when  he  stepped  into  the  sitting  room  to  wor- 
ship at  the  shrine,  then — Oh,  woe !  the  rose  was 
stripped  to  the  stem! 

He  wanted  to  clutch  the  bell  rope,  but  re- 
strained himself  when  he  saw  that  the  portrait 
of  her  whom  his  soul  loved  lay  half  rolled  up 
and  prostrate,  at  the  foot  of  the  flower  glass. 

This  Louisa  had  not  done!  In  his  childlike 
mind  he  thought:  ''She,  who  was  my  all — my 
conscience    and    my    inspiration — disapproves 

194 


THE  SLEEPY-HEAD 


of  me;    she   is    angry    at   me!     What  have   I 
done? 

And  when  he  questioned  his  conscience,  he 
naturally  found,  as  one  always  finds,  little 
flaws,  and  he  decided  to  scrape  them  out — grad- 
ually, of  course. 

Then  he  had  the  photograph  framed ;  the  rose 
he  placed  under  a  glass  globe — as  if  that  could 
be  of  any  use ! 

Thereupon  he  went  off  on  an  eight-day  jour- 
ney, came  home  again  in  the  night,  went  to  bed, 
woke  up  for  a  second,  as  usual,  opened  one  eye 
and  thought  that  the  hanging  lamp  was  burn- 
ing. 

Later,  when  he  stepped  into  the  sitting  room, 
it  was  downright  hot  in  there,  and  it  looked  so 
shabby.  The  curtains  were  faded;  the  piano 
cover,  too,  had  lost  its  color;  the  bindings  on 
his  music  books  were  warped;  the  paraffin  in 
his  lamp  had  evaporated  and  hung  in  a  single 
threatening  drop  under  the  ornament,  where  the 
flies  used  to  dance;  the  water  in  the  decanter 
was  warm. 

But  saddest  of  all !  her  likeness  too  had  faded 
— yellowed  like   autumn  grass!     Then  he  be- 

195 


EASTEE  AND  STOEIES 


came  downhearted,  and  when  he  was  very  down- 
hearted, he  took  to  the  piano  or  the  violin. 

This  time  he  sat  down  at  the  piano,  with  the 
vague  intention  of  playing  the  Sonata  in  E- 
minor — Grieg's,  of  course,  and  her  sonata — the 
greatest  and  best  that  has  come  to  the  world 
since  Beethoven's  D-minor — not  because  E 
comes  after  D,  but  because  it  is. 

But  the  piano  wouldn't  obey  to-day;  it  was 
inharmonious  and  troublesome,  so  he  thought 
that  his  fingers  or  his  ears  were  out  of  sorts. 
However,  they  were  not  at  fault.  The  piano 
was  simply  out  of  tune,  dreadfully  out  of  tune, 
although  it  had  but  lately  come  from  the  skilled 
fingers  of  the  tuner.  It  was  as  if  bewitched — 
under  a  spell! 

Then  he  seized  the  violin;  that  had  to  be 
tuned,  of  course.  But  w^hen  the  first  treble 
string  was  to  be  keyed,  the  peg  wouldn't  work. 
It  was  dried  fast.  TVTien  the  capellmeister  took 
hold  with  an  iron  grip,  the  string  snapped  and 
rolled  up,  like  a  dry  eel  skin.  It  was  be- 
witched ! 

But  that  the  picture  should  fade,  ah,  that  was 
196 


THE  SLEEPY-HEAD 


the  saddest  of  all!  Therefore,  he  drew  a  veil 
over  the  altar. 

With  that,  a  veil  dropped  over  the  best  part 
of  his  life,  and  the  capellmeister  became  low- 
spirited,  brooded,  and  ceased  going  out  even- 
ings. 

It  drew  on  toward  midsummer;  the  days 
were  longer  than  the  nights;  but  as  the  Vene- 
tian blinds  kept  the  room  darkened,  the  capell- 
meister could  not  mark  any  change. 

Finally,  one  night — Midsummer's  Night — he 
was  awakened  by  the  clock  striking  thirteen. 
It  was  uncanny,  both  because  it  was  an  unlucky 
number  and  because  a  sensible  clock  can't  strike 
thirteen.  Now  he  did  not  drop  to  sleep  again, 
but  lay  and  listened.  It  creaked  in  the  sitting 
room,  then  something  snapped,  as  when  a  piece 
of  furniture  breaks.  A  moment  later,  it  pat- 
tered on  the  floor,  and  the  clock  began  striking; 
and  it  struck,  struck,  fifty  strokes,  then  a  hun- 
dred— it  was  weird ! 

Then  a  ray  of  light  penetrated  the  sleeping 
room  and  a  figure  appeared  on  the  wall  paper, 
a   curious   figure,   like   a   scarecrow.     It   came 

197 


EASTEE  AND  STORIES 


from  the  sitting  room  door,  hence  the  lamp  was 
lit  in  there.  But  who  had  lighted  it?  And 
glasses  clinked,  just  as  if  guests  were  seated 
there,  but  there  was  no  talking.  Yet  strange 
sounds  were  heard,  as  when  one  takes  in  sail, 
mangles  clothes,  or  the  like. 

The  capellmeister  had  to  go  out  and  investi- 
gate. Commending  his  soul  into  the  hands  of 
the  Almighty,  he  walked  in. 

First,  he  saw  Louisa's  wrapper  vanish 
through  the  kitchen  door.  Then  he  saw  new 
shades  at  the  windows — drawn  up  at  that,  and 
the  dining  table  covered  with  flowers  in  glasses 
as  on  his  wedding  eve,  when  he  came  home  with 
his  bride. 

And  look!  The  sun  caught  him  right  in  the 
face!  Over  distant  fjords  and  woods  the  sun 
had  come  and  played  all  the  little  roguish 
pranks  and  had  made  the  illumination  in  the 
sitting  room.  It  was  his  birthday,  and  he 
blessed  the  sun  that  had  been  up  so  early  play- 
ing tricks  on  the  sleepy-head.  And  he  blessed 
her  memory,  whom  he  called  his  life's  sun.  It 
was  no  new  name,  but  he  couldn't  think  of  a 
better  one — and  it  was  good  enough. 

198 


THE  SLEEPY-HEAD 


And  the  rose  stood  upon  the  home  altar;  it 
was  perfectly  fresh — as  fresh  as  she  had  been 
before  she  grew  weary  of  the  grind.  Weary! 
Ah,  she  was  not  one  of  your  strong  sort;  life 
for  her  was  too  brutal,  with  all  its  knocks  and 
blows.  In  bis  memory  he  recalled  how,  when 
she  had  had  washing  or  scouring  to  do,  she 
would  sink  down  on  the  sofa  and  moan:  ''I'm 
so  tired!" 

Poor  little  girl!  She  did  not  belong  here; 
she  only  paid  us  a  visit — then  she  went  away ! 

''She  missed  the  sun,"  the  doctor  said;  but 
at  that  time  they  couldn't  afford  the  sun,  for 
sunny  rooms  cost  more. 

But  now  he  had  the  sun  without  his  knowing 
it,  and  he  stood  right  in  it — but  it  was  too  late ! 

Midsummer  was  over,  and  the  sun  was  going 
away  again,  to  be  gone  a  year  and  then  return. 
It  was  so  strange  altogether ! 


199 


SECRETS  OF  THE  TOBACCO  SHED 


SECEETS  OF  THE  TOBACCO  SHED 

Once  there  was  a  young  girl  who  belonged  to 
the  Opera.  She  was  so  beautiful  that  people 
turned  around  in  the  street  to  stare  at  her,  and 
she  sang  as  only  a  few  can  sing ! 

The  capellmeister  and  the  composer  came 
along  and  offered  her  their  kingdoms,  with  their 
hearts.  The  kingdoms  she  accepted,  but  the 
hearts? — well,  they  could  be  dispensed  with. 

She  was  great  now — as  great  as  anything. 
She  drove  through  the  streets  in  a  victoria  and 
nodded  to  her  picture,  which  hung  in  all  the 
shop  windows. 

She  became  still  greater,  and  appeared  on 
postal  cards,  soaps,  and  cigar  boxes.  Finally 
her  picture  was  hung  in  the  foyer,  among  the 
mortal  Immortals ;  and  then,  to  speak  frankly, 
she  became  very  much  puffed  up. 

One  day  she  stood  on  a  bridge  by  the  sea, 
where  the  waves  rose  high  and  the  current  was. 
strong.     The  capellmeister  stood  beside  her,  of 

203 


EASTER  AND  STORIES 


course,  and  many  other  young  gentlemen  were 
there.  The  beauty  toyed  with  a  rose,  and  this 
all  the  gentlemen  wanted,  but  only  he  who  could 
take  it  was  to  have  it. 

So  she  tossed  the  rose  far  out  on  the  waves. 
The  young  gentlemen  looked  far  out  after  the 
rose,  but  the  capellmeister  jumped  at  once  into 
the  surf,  skimmed  the  waves  like  an  eel,  and 
soon  had  the  flower  between  his  lips. 

Then  applause  thundered  from  the  bridge, 
and  he  who  lay  in  the  sea  saw  that  she  loved 
him.  But  now,  when  he  should  return  to  land,* 
he  could  not  move.  There  was  a  tide,  with  an 
undertow;  this  she,  on  the  bridge,  did  not  com- 
prehend, but  thought  that  he  was  playing,  there- 
fore she  laughed.  But  he,  who  felt  the  death 
grip,  misinterpreted  her  laughter,  which  was 
not  kindly,  and  he  felt  a  sting  in  his  heart ;  with 
that  his  love  was  over. 

Presently  he  reached  the  shore  with  bleeding- 
hands,  which  he  had  torn  on  the  bridge. 

'•You  shall  have  my  hand,"  said  the  beauty. 

*'I  do  not  want  it,"  answered  the  capellmeis- 
ter ;  then  he  turned  his  back  and  went  away. 

204 


SECRETS  OF  THE  TOBACCO  SHED 

That  was  high  treason  against  beauty,  and 
for  that  he  must  die ! 

How  it  happened  that  the  capellmeister  left 
the  Opera,  is  something  which  only  theatre  folk 
understand.  He  was  firmly  seated,  and  it  took 
two  years  to  throw  him  down. 

But  down  he  came!  And  when  she  had  de- 
posed her  benefactor,  she  triumphed  and  be- 
came even  more  puffed  up — until  it  was  ap- 
parent. The  public  saw  under  the  paint  that 
the  heart  was  bad,  therefore  it  could  no  longer 
be  moved  by  her  song,  and  it  did  not  believe  in 
her  tears  or  her  smiles. 

She  observed  this,  and  grew  bitter.  She  still 
ruled  the  theatre,  choked  all  who  wished  to  rise, 
and  got  the  papers  to  cut  them  up. 

She  had  lost  favor,  but  power  meant  more  to 
her.  And  now,  that  she  was  rich,  powerful  and 
satisfied,  she  was  content  with  life;  and  folk 
who  are  content,  as  a  rule  do  not  gTow  thin — 
rather  are  they  inclined  to  grow  fat,  and  she 
was  actually  becoming  a  little  corpulent.  She 
commenced  very  slowly  and  imperceptibly,  so 
that  she  did  not  observe  it  herself  until  it  was 

205 


EASTER  AND  STORIES 


too  late.  Bang!  Descent  is  rapid,  and  this 
particular  drive  went  at  break-neck  speed. 
The  torture  to  which  she  subjected  herself  did 
not  help.  She  had  the  most  sumptuous  table 
in  the  city,  but  was  forced  to  starve  herself; 
and  the  more  she  starved,  the  fatter  she  grew. 

In  a  year  she  was  out  of  the  game  and  her 
salary  was  reduced.  In  two  years  she  was  half- 
forgotten  and  supplanted  by  younger  stars. 
The  third  year  she  was  dismissed — then  she 
hired  an  attic  chamber. 

''It  was  an  unnatural  fat,"  said  the  stage 
director  to  the  prompter. 

''That  isn't  fat,  it's  bloat!"  returned  the 
prompter. 

She  sat  now  in  the  attic  room  arid  looked 
down  upon  a  big  plantation.  There  stood  also 
a  tobacco  shed,  and  this  she  liked  because  there 
were  no  windows  in  it,  at  which  folks  could  sit 
and  stare  at  her.  Sparrows  lived  under  the 
rafters,  but  no  tobacco  hung  there,  inasmuch  as 
nothing  of  the  kind  grew  on  the  land. 

Thus  she  sat  the  whole  summer,  gazed  at  her 
shed  and  wondered  what  it  was  for,  as  the  doors 
were  fastened  with  big  padlocks,  and  no  one 

206 


SECRETS  OF  THE  TOBACCO  SHED 

was  seen  to  go  in  and  out.  That  it  hid  some 
secrets  she  surmised;  but  of  what  sort,  she 
would  soon  see. 

There  were  still  one  or  two  lingering  straws 
of  the  past  glory,  to  which  she  clung,  and  upon 
which  she  lived.  These  were  her  crowning 
roles:  ''Carmen"  and  "Ai'da,"  which  had  not 
been  filled  for  want  of  a  successor;  and  in  the 
public  memory  her  performances,  which  had 
been  excellent,  still  lived. 

Well,  August  came,  the  arc  lamps  were  lit 
once  more,  and  the  theatres  were  to  be  opened. 

The  singer  sat  at  her  window  and  looked 
down  upon  the  shed,  which  had  lately  been 
painted  red  and  had  a  new  tile  roof. 

Scrambling  through  the  potato  patches  came 
a  man  carrying  a  big,  rusty  key.  Presently  he 
opened  the  shed  door  and  walked  in. 

Then  came  two  more  men,  whom  she  thought 
she  recognized,  and  they  also  disappeared  in  the 
shed. 

Now  it  began  to  be  interesting. 

In  a  little  while  the  three  men  came  out  car- 
rying something  big  and  curious,  which  looked 
like  bed-bottoms  or  partitions. 

207 


EASTER  AND  STORIES 


Once  outside,  tliey  turned  the  frames  and 
put  them  down  against  the  door;  and  then  a 
fireplace  appeared,  but  it  was  painted — badly 
painted. 

Thereupon,  a  door  to  some  country  house  was 
seen — a  hunter's  hut,  perhaps?  Then  came  a 
forest,  a  window,  and  a  library. 

It  was  theatre  scenery.  After  a  bit,  she 
recognized  the  rose  bush  in  "Faust." 

This  was  the  storehouse  for  the  opera  scen- 
ery, and  by  this  very  rose  bush  she  had  once 
sung:     "Little   flowers,   lie   there,  lie   there!" 

Her  poor  little  heart  ached  when  she  realized 
that  "Faust"  was  to  be  set  up,  yet  there  was 
one  comfort — she  had  not  sung  the  star  role, 
which  was  Margaret's. 

"  'Faust'  may  pass,  but  don't  touch  'Car- 
men' or  'Aida,'  for  then  I  shall  die!" 

She  sat  there  and  saw  how  the  repertoire 
changed,  and  she  knew  a  fortnight  ahead  of  the 
newspapers  which  operas  were  to  be  given.  It 
was  always  something  pleasant.  She  saw  "Die 
Freischutz"  dragged  out — wolf -cave  and  all; 
she  saw  "The  Flying  Dutchman,"  with  the  ship 

208 


SECRETS  OF  THE  TOBACCO  SHED 

and  sea;  ''Tannhauser"  and  ''Lohengrin," 
and  many  more. 

And  then  there  came  a  day — for  the  inevita- 
ble must  come.  The  men  dragged  (one  was 
named  Lindquist,  she  remembered,  and  he  was  a 
scene  shifter)  and  then  out  came  a  square  in 
Spain!  The  wing  stood  obliquely  so  she  could 
not  see  plainly  what  it  was.  One  of  the  men 
slowly  balanced  the  frame,  and  as  he  turned  it 
the  back  was  seen,  which  is  always  ugly;  but 
there,  in  bold,  black  letters,  which  loomed  up, 
one  after  another,  deliberately,  as  if  to  torture 
her,  was  written  plainly,  irrevocably :  C,  A,  R,- 
M,  E,  K     It  was  Carmen! 

"Now  I'm  dying!"  said  the  singer.  But  she 
didn't  die,  poor  thing,  not  even  when  ''Aida*' 
was  put  on.  Thus  was  her  name  swept  from 
the  mind  of  the  public;  from  shop  windows; 
from  postal  cards;  and,  finally,  in  some  un- 
known manner,  her  portrait  disappeared  from 
the  foyer. 

She  could  not  comprehend  how  people  forget 
so  soon;  it  was  absolutely  inexplicable!  But 
she  mourned  herself,  as  one  mourns  the  dead. 

209 


EASTEK  AND  STORIES 


And  the  singer — the  celebrity — was  of  course 
dead. 

So  one  day  she  went  out  alone  and  prome- 
naded on  a  deserted  street.  It  was  a  dump  for 
rubbish.  She  paused  without  thinkini^  of  any- 
thing in  particular,  but  saw  enough  of  the  i-uin; 
for  on  the  rubbish  heap  lay  a  postal  card,  and 
on  it  appeared  her  picture  as  "Carmen." 

She  walked  away  rapidly  and  cried  in  her 
heart.  She  came  in  on  a  side  street,  where  the 
show  window  of  a  little  book  shop  made  her 
stop  short.  She  was  accustomed  to  pause  by 
such  windows,  to  look  for  her  picture.  But  it 
did  not  hang  here ;  instead,  there  hung  a  placard 
upon  which  she  against  her  will  read  memor- 
able words : 

'^The  Lord's  countenance  is  turned  against 
all  those  who  do  evil,  and  lie  ivill  erase  their 
memories  from  the  earth!" 

"Those  who  do  evil — "  This  was  why  her 
"memory"  had  been  obliterated.  This  ex- 
plained the  people's  forgetfulness. 

"But  cannot  evil  be  turned  into  good?  Have 
210 


SECRETS  OF  THE  TOBACCO  SHED 

I    not    suffered    punishment    enough?"     she 
moaned. 

And  so  she  went  into  the  woods,  where  there 
were  no  human  beings.  As  she  wandered, 
despairing,  crushed,  humbled,  she  saw  another 
solitary  being  coming  toward  her.  He  asked 
with  his  eyes  if  he  dared  venture  a  greeting. 

It  was  the  capellmeister. 

But  his  eyes  did  not  speak  reproaches  or 
humiliating  sympathy;  they  expressed  admira- 
tion, astonishment,  and  tenderness. 

"How  slender  and  refined  you  have  grown, 
Hanna!"  said  his  lips.  She  looked  down  upon 
herself  and  found  that  it  was  true.  Sorrow 
had  burned  out  the  superfluous,  puffed-up 
flesh,  and  she  was  more  beautiful  than  she  had 
ever  been. 

"And  you  are  just  as  young — younger!" 

These  were  the  first  kind  words  she  had  heard 
in  a  long  time,  and  when  they  came  from  him, 
whom  she  had  treated  so  badly,  she  understood 
the  worth  of  a  good  man,  and  told  him  so. 

"Have  you  your  voice  still,  Hanna?"  asked 
the  capellmeister,  who  could  not  abide  compli- 
ments. 

211 


EASTEK  AND  STOEIES 


"I  don't  know,"  she  sobbed. 

''Come  up  to  the  song  chamber  to-morrow — 
yes,  my  room  at  the  Opera — and  we  shall  hear. 
The  fact  is,  I'm  re-engaged  there." 

The  singer  came — came  back  and  rose  to  the 
front  once  more. 

The  public  had  forgiven  and  forgotten — for- 
gotten the  evil,  and  now  the  singer  was  just  as 
great — no,  much  greater  than  before ! 

It  was  an  edifying  story. 


212 


THE  BIG  GRAVEL  SCREEN 


THE  BIG  GRAVEL  SCREEN 

Once  upon  a  time  an  eel-pout  and  her  son  lay 
at  the  bottom  of  the  sea,  close  by  the  steamboat 
dock,  and  watched  how  a  boy  prepared  his  rod 
for  fishing. 

''Look  at  that  one!"  said  the  eel-pout,  "and 
you  will  learn  something  of  the  world's  wicked- 
ness, and  of  its  snares.  .  .  .  Look  at  him  now! 
He  has  a  whip  in  his  hand ;  and  now  he  is  throw- 
ing out  the  lash — there  it  goes!  Then  comes 
the  clapper,  which  sinks  deep  down ;  there  it  is  I 
And  then  comes  the  hook,  with  a  worm  on  it. 
That's  the  thing  that  you  mustn't  take  into  your 
mouth,  for  then  you're  caught!  It  is  only  stu- 
pid perch  and  roach  that  let  themselves  be 
fooled.     So,  now  you  know  it." 

Presently  the  seaweed  forest,  with  mussels 
and  snails,  began  to  rock,  and  splashing,  and 
beating  of  drums  were  heard,  and  then  a  big, 
red  whale  shot  forward  over  their  heads.     It 

215 


EASTER  AND  STORIES 


had  a  tail-fin  like  a  propeller,  with  which  it 
worked. 

'^It's  the  steamboat,"  said  the  eel-pout. 
' '  Get  out  of  the  way ! ' ' 

And  then  there  was  a  terrible  racket  up 
above. 

There  were  tramping  and  clamping  as  they 
built  a  bridge  in  about  two  seconds  between  the 
boat  and  land.  But  it  was  difficult  to  see,  for 
they  were  letting  out  oil  and  soot  up  there. 

There  was  something  very  heavy  on  the 
bridge,  so  that  it  shrieked;  and  several  men 
began  to  sing:  ''Oh,  chuck  it!  A-hoy!  hie 
with  it! — Hey,  take  hold  of  it! — Ho  there! 
Hie  with  it!  Now,  steady  with  it!  Hie  with 
it!" 

And  now  something  happened  that  was  in- 
describable! First,  it  sounded  as  when  sixty 
Dalecarlians  are  splitting  wood;  then  a  big 
hole  opened  in  the  water,  which  reached  clear 
down  to  the  sea-bottom,  and  between  three 
stones  stood  a  black  cupboard,  that  sang  and 
played  so  that  it  rang  and  clanged  all  the  way 
to  the  eel-pout  and  her  son,  who  made  for  deep 
water. 

216 


THE  BIG  GRAVEL  SCREEN 

Then  was  heard  a  voice  from  above  that 
shrieked : 

''Three  fathoms  deep — it  can't  be  done!  Let 
it  lie  there,  for  it  won 't  pay  to  take  up  that  old 
rattle-box,  which  costs  more  for  repairs  than 
it's  worth."  It  was  the  Inspector  of  mines, 
whose  piano  had  dropped  into  the  sea. 

Then  there  was  quiet.  The  big  red  fish  beat 
itself  out  with  the  rudder-fin,  and  it  became 
still  quieter.  But  when  the  sun  went  down,  the 
wind  came.  The  black  cupboard  down  in  the 
sea-weed  forest  began  rocking  and  bumping 
against  the  stones,  and  with  every  bump  it 
played,  so  that  the  fishes  in  the  vicinity  swam 
over,  to  see  and  hear. 

The  eel-pout  came  first,  to  stare,  and  when 
she  saw  that  she  could  mirror  herself  in  the 
cupboard,  she  said :    ' '  It 's  a  mirror-cupboard ! ' ' 

That  was  logical,  and  therefore  they  all  said : 
**It's  a  mirror-cupboard." 

Then  there  came  a  butter-fish,  that  nosed  the 
candlesticks,  which  were  still  intact,  and  there 
were  candle-stumps  burned  down  fast  in  the 
pipes.     ''This  stuff  is  good  to  eat,"  it  said 
*'if  only  the  lash  wasn't  there!" 

217 


EASTER  AND  STORIES 


Along  came  a  big  cod  and  stretched  himself 
out  on  the  pedal;  and  then  there  was  such  a 
racket  in  the  cupboard,  that  all  the  fishes  fled! 

And  they  got  no  farther  that  day. 

In  the  night  there  was  a  half-storm,  and  the 
music-box  thumped  all  the  while,  like  the  stone- 
paver's  hired  girl,  until  the  sun  got  up.  Then, 
when  the  eel-pout  came  back  with  the  whole 
company,  the  cupboard  was  changed. 

The  lid  had  flown  open,  like  a  shark's  gape, 
and  a  row  of  teeth  was  visible — so  big  that 
they  had  never  seen  the  like;  but  every  second 
tooth  was  black.  And  the  whole  machine  had 
swelled  up  on  the  sides,  like  a  roe-fish:  the 
boards  bulged,  the  pedal  pointed  in  the  air,  like 
a  kicking  foot,  and  the  arms  of  the  candlesticks 
doubled  themselves  like  fists.     It  was  a  sight! 

''It's  bursting!"  shrieked  the  cod,  spreading 
a  fin  for  a  quick  turn. 

"It's  bursting!"  they  all  shrieked. 

And  now  the  boards  loosened,  the  box  opened, 
and  one  could  see  how  it  looked  inside.  This 
was  the  funniest  of  all!  ''It's  a  fish-trap! 
Don't  go  there !"  said  the  eel-pout. 

"It's  a  loom,  it  is !"  said  the  stickleback,  who 
218 


TflE  BIG  GRAVEL  SCREEN 

crochets  his  nest  and  knows  all  about  weaving 
apparatus. 

*'A  gravel-screen!"  said  the  perch,  who 
usually  stayed  under  the  lime-works. 

Yes,  a  gravel  screen  it  certainly  was!  But 
there  was  such  a  lot  of  gimcracks  and  chicanery 
inside,  that  were  not  like  the  one  they  sifted 
gravel  through.  There  were  little  manikins 
that  looked  like  toes  in  white  wool  stockings, 
and  when  they  moved,  a  foot  with  a  hundred 
skeleton  joints  walked.  It  walked  and  walked, 
but  it  never  left  the  spot. 

It  was  a  queer  body.  But  the  playing  was 
over,  for  the  skeleton  couldn't  get  at  the  strings 
any  more,  but  pounded  in  the  water  as  if  it  were 
knocking  with  its  knuckles  to  be  let  in. 

Then  there  came  a  shoal  of  stickleback,  that 
went  right  through  the  cupboard.  And  when 
they  dragged  their  quills  over  the  strings,  it 
played  again,  but  in  a  new  way,  for  now  the 
strings  were  re-tuned. 

On  a  rosy  summer 's  evening,  soon  thereafter, 
two  children — a  boy  and  a  girl — sat  on  the 
steamboat   dock.     They  were   not  thinking  of 

219 


EASTER  AND  STORIES 


anything  in  particular — a  little  mischief,  per- 
haps?— when,  all  of  a  sudden,  they  heard  soft 
music  from  the  bottom  of  the  sea,  and  they 
became  serious. 

''Do  you  hear?" 

"Yes.     \\Tiat  is  it?     It's  playing  scales." 

"No,  it's  the  mosquitoes  that  are  singing." 

"Never!     It's  the  mermaid." 

"There  isn't  any  mermaid,  the  schoolmaster 
said." 

"That  the  schoolmaster  doesn't  know.'* 

"Oh,  just  listen!" 

They  listened  a  long  while,  and  then  they 
went  their  way. 

A  pair  of  newly  arrived  bathing  guests  seated 
themselves  on  the  dock.  He  looked  into  her 
eyes,  which  mirrored  the  whole  rose-colored 
sunset  and  the  green  shores.  Then  they  heard 
music,  like  a  glass-harmonica,  but  in  strange 
keys — such  as  only  those  dreamed  who  wished 
to  do  something  new  in  the  world!  But  it  did 
not  occur  to  them  to  seek  outside  themselves, 
for  they  thought  that  the  music  was  within 
them. 

Then  a  pair  of  old  bathing  guests  came  along, 
220 


THE  BIG  GRAVEL  SCREEN 

who  knew  the  joke,  and  they  took  delight  in 
saj^ing  aloud: 

''It's  the  Inspector's  sunken  piano." 

But  if  there  came  new  guests,  who  didn't 
know  the  game,  they  would  sit  and  wonder  and 
rejoice  over  the  unknown  music,  till  older  guests 
appeared  and  enlightened  them  as  to  the  decep- 
tion.    Then  they  rejoiced  no  more. 

But  the  music  box  lay  where  it  lay  the  whole 
summer,  and  the  stickleback  taught  their  art  to 
the  perch,  who  knew  better.  The  piano  became 
a  perch-ground  for  the  guests.  The  sailors  put 
a  net  around  it,  and  a  watchman  tried  one  day 
to  fish  cod  in  it.  ^Vhen  he  had  brought  out  his 
cod-line  with  the  old  winder  and  was  going  to 
wind  it  up,  the  watchman  heard  a  run  in 
X-minor!  and  then  the  hook  caught.  He  tugged 
and  pulled,  and  at  last  he  dragged  up  five  finger 
joints,  with  wool  on  the  ends,  and  it  creaked  in 
the  bones  as  on  a  skeleton.  He  was  scared  and 
threw  his  catch  into  the  sea,  although  he  knew 
what  it  was. 

Then  followed  the  dog  days,  when  the  water 
was  warm  and  all  the  fishes  went  far  out  in  the 
deep,  to  cool  off. 

221 


EASTER  AND  STORIES 


The  music  was  hushed  again.  But  Aui^ist 
moonlight  came,  and  the  bathing  guests  hehl  a 
regatta.  In  a  white  boat  sat  the  Inspector  and 
his  wife,  who  were  being  rowed  slowly  back  and 
forth  by  their  boys.  As  they  skimmed  the  black 
water,  burnished  on  top  with  silver  and  a  little 
gold  besides,  they  heard  music  under  the  boat. 

''ITa,  ha!"  laughed  the  Inspector,  "that's  our 
old  rattlety-bang  piano.     Ila,  ha!" 

But  he  was  silent  when  he  saw  his  wife  bend 
her  head  down  on  her  breast,  after  the  manner 
of  pelicans  in  pictures,  just  as  if  she  wanted  to 
bite  her  breast,  and  hide  her  face. 

The  old  piano  and  its  long  story  had  awak- 
ened in  her  memories  of  the  long  ago;  of  the 
first  dining  room  they  had  fitted  up;  of  the 
first  child  that  had  learned  to  play ;  of  the  long 
evenings'  loneliness,  which  could  only  bo  dis- 
pelled by  loud  volumes  of  sound,  that  made  the 
whole  apartment  shake  off  its  dullness,  and 
which  tuned  up  the  spirits  and  put  a  new  shine 
even  on  the  furniture.  .  .  .  But  that  stor>'  does 
not  belong  here. 

When  the  autumn  was  well  in  and  the  first 
222 


^IMII-:   \\\(l  (inWVA.  SrT.KEX 


storm  was  over,  then  the  hoiring  came  by  thou- 
sands of  tliousands  and  swam  through  the 
music  box.  That  was  a  farewell  concert,  you'd 
better  believe !  Swallow-fish  and  seamew  gath- 
ered to  listen. 

That  night  the  music  box  went  out  to  sea,  and 
then  there  was  an  end  to  the  whole  glory. 


223 


PHOTOGRAPHY  AND  PHILOSOPHY 


PHOTOGRAPHY  AND  PHILOSOPHY 

Once  there  was  a  photographer  who  pho- 
tographed prolifically — profiles,  busts,  knee- 
lengths  and  full  figures;  and  he  developed  and 
fixed  up,  toned  down,  gold-bathed  and  copied. 
He  was  a  dabster !  But  he  was  never  satisfied, 
for  he  was  a  philosopher,  a  great  philosopher — 
and  a  discoverer. 

He  had,  in  fact,  philosophized  that  the  world 
was  upside  down — that  one  could  see  on  the 
negative,  when  it  lay  in  the  developer.  That 
which  was  right  on  a  person,  became  left  here ; 
that  which  was  dark  became  light.  The  shad- 
ows became  high  lights;  blue  was  white,  and 
silver  buttons  were  as  dull  as  iron.  Every- 
thing was  reversed. 

He  had  a  partner,  who  was  just  the  common, 
everyday  sort,  full  of  little  eccentricities.  For 
instance,  he  smoked  tobacco  all  day  long;  he 
could  never  learn  to  close  a  door  after  him;  he 
stuck  the  knife  into  his  mouth  instead  of  the 

227 


EASTER  AND  STORIES 


fork;  he  went  about  in  the  house  with  his  hat 
on;  he  manicured  his  nails  in  the  middle  of  the 
atelier,  and  at  night  he  had  to  have  three  mugs 
of  ale.    He  was  full  of  faults ! 

The  philosopher,  who,  on  the  contrary,  was 
faultless,  harbored  resentment  against  his  im- 
perfect brother  and  wanted  to  jDart  from  him, 
but  couldn't,  for  their  business  interests  held 
them  together.  And  because  they  had  to  stick 
together,  the  philosopher's  aversion  began  to 
develop  into  an  unreasonable  hatred.  It  was 
terrible ! 

When  spring  came,  they  were  to  look  for  a 
summer  cottage.  The  partner  was  sent  out  to 
make  arrangements,  and  he  made  them! 

Thereupon,  one  Saturday  evening,  they 
boarded  a  steamboat.  The  philosopher  sat  on 
the  upper  deck  all  the  way,  and  drank  punsch. 
He  was  very  corpulent  and  was  affected  with 
several  complaints:  Something  awry  with  his 
liver,  and  with  his  feet,  also,  there  was  some- 
thing bothersome — rheumatism  or  the  like. 
Well,  then!  Having  reached  their  destination, 
they  stepped  ashore  at  the  landing. 

''Is  it  here?"  asked  the  philosopher. 
228 


PHOTOGRAPHY  AND  PHILOSOPHY 

"Only  a  short  step  from  here,"  replied  the 
partner. 

They  walked  down  a  path  bordered  with 
trees.  The  path  terminated  right  in  front  of  a 
picket  fence.  This  had  to  be  scaled.  Then 
came  a  stony  path.  The  philosopher  com- 
plained of  his  feet,  but  soon  forgot  his  agony 
before  a  new  picket  fence,  which  must  be 
climbed.  Then  the  path  vanished,  as  if  of  its 
own  accord.  They  had  to  climb  steep,  rocky 
hills  and  make  their  way  through  briers  and 
blueberry  vines. 

On  the  other  side  of  the  third  picket  fence 
stood  a  bull,  who  chased  the  philosopher  as  far 
as  the  fourth  picket  fence;  and  this  induced  a 
sweat  bath,  which  opened  the  pores.  After  the 
sixth  picket  fence  the  cabin  was  seen.  Pres- 
ently the  philosopher  stepped  in  and  came  out 
on  the  veranda. 

"^Tiy  are  there  so  many  trees'?"  he  asked. 
"They  shut  out  the  view." 

"Well,  they  must  protect  us  against  the  sea 
winds,"  answered  the  partner. 

"This  looks  like  a  church-yard!  Why,  we 
live  in  the  middle  of  a  fir-wood ! ' ' 

229 


EASTEE  AND  STORIES 


''That's  healthy!"  said  the  partner. 

Soon  they  were  going  for  a  bath;  but  there 
was  no  bathing  beach,  in  a  philosophical  sense. 
There  was  only  stone  bottom  and  mud.  After 
the  bath,  the  philosopher  meant  to  have  a  drink 
of  water  from  the  spring.  It  was  a  rust-brown 
water,  with  a  pungent  taste.  That  wouldn't 
do.  Nothing  would  do.  There  was  no  meat  to 
be  bought,  and  fish  was  the  only  thing  that  could 
be  had. 

The  philosopher  was  glum  and  seated  himself 
under  a  gourd,  to  grumble;  but  staj^  he  must! 
and  the  partner  went  back  to  the  city,  to  look 
after  the  business  during  his  comrade's  holi- 
day. 

Six  weeks  had  gone  by  when  the  partner  re- 
turned to  his  philosopher. 

On  the  landing  there  stood  a  slender  youth, 
with  rosy  cheeks  and  a  brown  neck.  It  was  the 
philosopher — rejuvenated  and  full  of  animal 
spirits. 

He  jumped  the  six  picket  fences  and  chased 
the  bull  himself. 

When  they  reached  the  veranda,  the  partner 
remarked : 

230 


PHOTOGRAPHY  AND  PHILOSOPHY 

''You  look  well;  how  have  you  fared?" 

"Capitally!"  said  the  philosopher,  "The 
picket  fences  have  taken  the  fat  off  me;  the 
stones  have  massaged  my  feet;  the  mud  has 
given  me  mud  baths  for  the  rheumatism;  the 
frugal  fare  has  cured  my  liver,  the  pine  woods 
my  lungs  and,  think  of  it !  the  brown  spring 
water  contained  iron — just  what  I  needed." 

"Yes,  you  philosopher!"  said  the  partner, 
"from  the  negative  plate  we  get  a  positive, 
where  the  shadows  become  high  lights  once 
more. 

"If  you  would  only  take  such  a  negative  of 
me  and  find  out  what  faults  I  do  not  possess, 
you  would  not  despise  me.  Just  consider!  I 
do  not  drink  to  excess,  therefore  I  attend  to 
the  business.  I  don't  steal.  I  never  speak  ill 
of  you.  I  never  complain.  I  never  turn  white 
into  black.  I'm  never  uncivil  to  customers.  I 
rise  early  in  the  morning.  I  trim  my  nails  to 
keep  the  developer  clean.  I  keep  my  hat  on  my 
head  so  as  not  to  shed  hairs  on  the  plate.  I 
smoke  tobacco  to  clear  the  atmosphere  of  poi- 
sonous fumes.  I  leave  the  doors  ajar  to  avoid 
making  a  noise  in  the  atelier.     I  drink  ale  at 

231 


EASTER  AND  STORIES 


night  so  as  not  to  fall  into  tlie  whiskey  habit; 
and  I  shove  my  knife  into  my  mouth  to  avoid 
sticking  myself  with  the  fork." 

'^ Verily,  thou  art  a  great  philosopher!"  said 
the  photographer.  ''Now  we  shall  be  friends; 
and  thus  we'll  make  headway." 


232 


JUBAL  SANS  EGO 


JUBAL  SANS  EGO 

Once  upon  a  time  there  was  a  king  called  Jo- 
liann  sans  Country;  and  the  reason  of  it  one 
can  guess. 

But  another  tiroe  there  was  a  great  singer 
who  was  called  ''Jubal  sans  Ego,"  and  why, 
you  shall  now  hear.  Klang  was  the  name  that 
his  father,  the  soldier,  had  given  him,  and  there 
was  music  in  the  name.  But  Nature  had  also 
given  him  a  strong  will,  which  sat  like  a  ramrod 
in  his  back.  It  was  a  great  gift,  and  one  to  be 
cherished  in  the  struggles  of  life.  Even  as  a 
child,  when  he  began  to  talk,  he  did  not  say  as 
other  small  boys  did,  ''him"  when  he  talked  of 
himself,  but  at  once  called  himself  "I."  ''You 
have  no  'I,'  "  said  the  grown  folk.  Wlien  he 
became  a  little  older  he  expressed  a  desire  with 
"I  will."     And  then  he  had  to  listen  to  this: 

"You  have  no  will,"  and  "Your  will  grows 
in  the  forest." 

Now  that  was  stupid  of  the  father,  but  he 
235 


EASTER  AND  STORIES 


knew  no  better,  for  he  was  a  soldier,  and  had 
been  taught  to  will  only  what  the  commander 
willed. 

Young  Klang  thought  it  queer  to  be  told  that 
he  did  not  have  any  will,  although  he  had  such 
a  strong  one ;  but  that  can  pass. 

Wlien  he  had  grown  up  somewhat,  his  father 
asked  one  day:  "What  do  you  wish  to  be- 
come ? ' ' 

That  the  boy  didn't  know.  He  had  given  up 
wishing,  since  it  was  forbidden.  He  certainly 
had  a  leaning  toward  music,  but  he  didn't  dare 
say  so,  for  then  he  thought  it  would  be  opposed. 
Therefore  he  answered  like  a  dutiful  son:  "I 
wish  nothing. ' ' 

"Then  you  shall  be  a  wine-tapper,"  said  the 
father. 

If  it  was  because  the  father  knew  a  wine-tap- 
per, or  because  the  wine  had  a  special  attraction 
for  him,  we  cannot  tell.  Suffice  it  to  say,  young 
Klang  was  placed  in  a  wine  cellar,  and  there  he 
didn't  fare  badly. 

It  smelled  so  good  of  red  sealing  wax  and 
French  wine  down  there !  And  there  were  big 
vaulted  rooms,  like  churches.    When  he  sat  at 

236 


JUBAL  SANS  EGO 


the  faucet,  and  the  red  wine  flowed,  his  spirits 
rose,  and  he  began  to  hum  all  the  ballads  he  had 
heard. 

The  proprietor,  who  lived  in  wine,  liked  song 
and  merriment,  and  kept  the  youth;  for  the 
music  sounded  so  well  under  the  arches;  and 
when  he  struck  up :  "Down  in  the  Deep  Cellar 
Vault,"  customers  came,  and  this  pleased  the 
proprietor. 

Then,  one  day  there  came  a  traveling  sales- 
man, who  had  formerly  been  an  opera  singer, 
and  when  he  heard  Klang,  he  was  so  enchanted 
that  he  invited  him  out  on  a  jollification  that 
evening. 

They  played  nine-pins,  ate  lobster,  with  dill 
sauce;  they  drank  punsch,  but,  above  all,  they 
sang ! 

Between  the  toasts  and  the  courses,  and  when 
they  had  drunk  the  ' '  To  Thee ' '  toast,  the  trav- 
eling salesman  said : 

"Why  don't  you  go  on  the  stage?" 

"I?"  gasped  Klang.  "Surely  I  can't  do 
that!" 

"You  must  say,  /  ivill;  then  you  can." 

This  was  a  new  doctrine,  for  since  his  third 
237 


EASTER  AND  STORIES 


year  young  Klang  had  not  used  the  words  "I" 
and  ''will." 

Now  he  did  not  dare  either  to  will  or  to  wish, 
and  he  begged  not  to  be  tempted  further. 

But  the  traveling  salesman  came  again,  many 
times,  and  brought  great  singers  with  him. 
The  tempter  became  too  strong,  and  Klang  took 
his  departure  one  evening  when  he  had  been 
applauded  by  a  real  empresario. 

So  he  bade  the  proprietor  farewell  and,  over  a 
glass  of  wine,  thanked  the  traveling  salesman, 
who  had  restored  his  faith  in  himself,  and  his 
will— ''the  will,  the  ramrod  in  the  back  which 
holds  a  man  upright  so  that  he  won't  fall  down 
on  all  fours."  And  never  would  he  forget  his 
friend  who  had  taught  him  to  believe  in  himself. 

Then  he  went  home  to  bid  his  father  and 
mother  good-by. 

"I  want  to  be  a  singer!"  he  blurted  out  so 
that  it  rang  in  the  cottage. 

His  father  looked  around  for  the  lash  and  his 
mother  wept;  but  it  did  no  good. 

"Don't  lose  yourself,  my  son!"  were  the 
mother's  parting  words. 

Young  Klang  received  money  with  which  to 
238 


JUBAL  SANS  EGO 


travel  to  a  foreign  land.  There  he  learned  to 
sing  according  to  rules,  and  in  a  few  years  he 
became  a  great  operatic  singer,  made  money, 
and  had  his  own  manager,  who  advanced  him. 

Friend  Klang  blossomed  out,  and  he  could 
say  both  ^'I"  and  "will,"  and  "I  command." 
His  "I"  grew  to  unnatural  proportions,  and 
he  wouldn't  tolerate  any  other  I's  where  he 
was !  He  denied  himself  nothing,  nor  did  he 
stint  himself  either.  But  now,  when  he  was  to 
return  to  his  own  country,  the  manager  taught 
him  that  it  would  never  do  for  one  to  be  called 
Klang  when  one  is  a  great  singer.  He  must 
have  a  high-sounding  name — preferably  a  for- 
eign one,  for  that  was  the  fashion. 

The  "great  one"  had  a  struggle  with  him- 
self, for  changing  one's  name  was  not  alto- 
gether agreeable.  It  was  like  denying  one's 
father  and  mother,  and  it  might  look  bad. 

But,  inasmuch  as  it  was  the  fashion,  he  let  it 
go  that  way. 

He  searched  the  Bible  to  find  the  right  name ; 
for  there  stood  the  names ! 

And  when  he  happened  upon  Jubal,  Lamech's 
son,  who  had  invented  all  sorts  of  musical  in- 

239 


EASTER  AND  STOEIES 


struments,  lie  took  it.  It  was  a  good  name  and, 
in  Hebrew,  it  meant  trumpet.  As  the  manager 
was  an  Englishman,  he  desired  that  Klang 
should  call  himself  Mister,  which  he  did — 
Mister  Jubal,  if  you  please ! 

All  this,  of  course,  was  very  innocent,  since 
it  was  the  fashion;  but  it  seemed  strange,  all 
the  same,  that  with  the  new  name  Klang  became 
another  man.  The  old  past  was  as  if  wiped 
out,  and  Mister  Jubal  felt  as  if  he  were  a  born 
Englishman,  spoke  his  mother  tongue  with  an 
accent  and  affected  mutton-chop  whiskers  and 
high  collars.  And  the  checked  clothes  looked 
as  if  they  had  grown  on  him,  like  bark  on  trees. 
He  grew  stiif  and  greeted  people  with  a  mon- 
acle,  never  turned  round  on  the  street  when  an 
acquaintance  called  his  name,  and  he  always 
stood  right  in  the  centre  of  the  tram  car. 

He  hardly  knew  himself ! 

Meanwhile,  he  was  at  home  once  more,  in  his 
own  country,  and  was  a  big  singer  at  the  Opera. 
He  played  kings  and  prophets,  heroes,  lovers 
and  demons,  and  when  he  had  a  role  to  practice, 
he  was  such  a  good  actor  that  he  believed  him- 
self to  be  the  one  he  was  impersonating. 

240 


JUBAL  SANS  EGO 


One  day  he  walked  the  street  and  was  a  de- 
mon from  somewhere,  but  he  was  also  Mr, 
Jubal. 

Then  he  heard  someone  from  behind  him 
call:  ''Klang!"  Naturally  he  did  not  turn 
around,  for  this  an  Englishman  never  does,  and, 
for  the  matter  of  that,  his  name  was  no  longer 
Klang. 

But  again  someone  shouted  ''Klang."  iVnd 
his  friend,  the  traveling  salesman,  stood  before 
him  and,  with  interrogating  glance,  asked  tim- 
idly and  graciously: 

"Isn't  this  Klang?" 

Mister  Jubal  had  a  demoniacal  fit !  Showing 
all  his  teeth  and  opening  his  mouth  wide,  as  if 
he  were  taking  a  chest  tone  from  the  cavities  in 
his  cranium,  he  bellowed  a  short  "No!" 

Then  his  friend  understood  him  and  went  his 
way.  He  was  an  enlightened  man,  knew  life 
and  people  and  himself  by  heart.  So  he  was 
neither  sad  nor  surprised. 

But  Mister  Jubal  thought  so,  and  when  he 
heard  these  words  within  him:  "Before  the 
cock  crow,  thou  slialt  deny  me  thrice,"  he  did 
as  Peter  had  done :  he  went  off  into  an  archway 

241 


EASTER  AND  STORIES 


and  wept  bitterly.  This  lie  himself  did  in  his 
mind,  but  the  demon  in  his  heart  laughed. 

After  that  day,  he  laughed  mostly;  laughed  at 
evil  and  good ;  at  sorrow  and  shame ;  at  every- 
thing and  everybody. 

His  father  and  mother  knew — through  the 
newspapers  of  course — who  Mr.  Jubal  was,  but 
they  never  went  to  the  Opera ;  for  they  thought 
it  was  something  with  barrel  hoops  and  horses, 
and  they  did  not  wish  to  see  their  son  there. 

Mr.  Jubal  was  now  the  greatest  singer,  and 
he  had  certainly  set  aside  a  goodly  portion  of 
his  ego,  but  the  will  was  still  there. 

Then  he  met  his  Waterloo!  It  was  a  little 
girl  in  the  ballet,  who  could  bewitch  men,  and 
Jubal,  also,  was  bewitched — so  badly  bewitched 
that  he  asked  if  he  might  be  hers.  .  .  .  (He 
meant,  of  course,  that  she  should  be  his,  but  one 
can't  say  that.) 

"I'll  let  you  be  mine,"  said  the  witch,  "if  I 
may — ' ' 

"You  may  have  everything!"  replied  Jubal. 

The  girl  took  him  at  his  word,  and  they  were 
married.  First,  he  taught  her  to  sing  and  play ; 
afterwards,   she   got  everything  she  wished — 

242 


JUBAL  SANS  EGO 


everything  that  he  didn't  wish — so,  little  by  lit- 
tle, she  had  his  will  in  her  pocket. 

One  fine  day  Mrs.  Jubal  was  a  great  singer; 
so  great,  that  when  the  public  shouted  ' '  Jubal, ' ' 
they  meant  the  lady,  and  not  the  gentleman. 

Jubal  wished  to  come  to  the  front  again,  but 
to  do  this  at  the  lady's  expense  he  had  no  de- 
sire, and  therefore  he  couldn't. 

He  began  to  be  blotted  out  and  forgotten. 

The  brilliant  coterie  of  friends,  whom  Mr. 
Jubal  had  attracted  to  his  bachelor-quarters, 
flocked  now  in  his  home  around  Mrs.  Jubal, 
who  was  called  just — Jubal. 

No  one  glanced  at  the  Mister;  no  one  drank 
to  him.  And  if  he  tried  to  talk,  no  one  listened. 
It  was  as  if  he  were  not  there,  and  his  wife  was 
treated  as  if  she  were  not  married. 

And  now  Mr.  Jubal  was  all  alone ;  and,  alone, 
he  went  to  the  Cafe.  He  sauntered  in  one 
evening  to  seek  companionship.  He  was  ready 
to  take  up  with  any  one  at  all,  so  long  as  it  was 
a  human  being! 

Presently  he  caught  sight  of  Ms  old  friend, 
the  traveling  salesman,  sitting  alone  having  a 
dull  time   of  it.    And  he  thought:    "Here  I 

243 


EASTER  AND  STORIES 


have  somebody  in  old  Lundborg!"  So  he 
stepped  up  to  the  table  and  greeted  him.  But 
the  friend's  face  changed  so  horribly,  that 
Jubal  had  to  ask:     ''Isn't  this  Lundborg?" 

"Yes." 

"Don't  you  know  me — Jubal?" 

"No." 

"Don't  you  know  Klang — your  old  friend?" 

"No!     He's  been  dead  this  long  while." 

Then  Jubal  understood  that  he  was,  in  a  cer- 
tain sense,  dead,  and  he  went  out. 

The  following  day  he  bade  farewell  to  the 
Opera  and  became  a  singing  teacher,  with  the 
title  of  Professor. 

Then  he  traveled  to  a  strange  country,  and 
remained  away  many  years. 

Grief  and  mortification  made  him  age  early. 

But  this  pleased  him,  for  it  meant  that  all 
would  soon  be  over.  But  he  didn't  age  so 
rapidly  as  he  desired,  so  he  procured  a  white 
wig  with  long  locks.  And  he  was  pleased  with 
it,  because  it  made  him  unrecognizable,  even  to 
himself. 

With  slow  steps  and  with  his  hands  behind 
him,    he    walked    the    streets    and    pondered. 

244 


JUBAL  SANS  EGO 


Folks  thought  he  was  seeking  someone  or  ex- 
pecting someone.  Any  one  meeting  his  eyes 
marked  no  light  in  them;  if  you  tried  to  make 
his  acquaintance,  he  talked  only  generalities; 
and  he  never  said  ^'I"  or  "I  think,"  but  "it 
seems."  He  had  lost  himself,  and  he  discov- 
ered this  one  day  when  he  was  about  to  shave. 
He  had  lathered  himself  before  the  mirror,  and 
was  just  ready  to  proceed  with  the  razor,  when 
he  saw  the  room  back  of  him,  but  his  face  he 
did  not  see.  Then  he  understood  the  situation, 
and  he  was  seized  with  a  sudden  longing  to  find 
himself  again.  The  best  part  of  him  he  had 
given  to  his  wife,  who  had  his  will.  And  he 
decided  to  hunt  her  up. 

When  he  got  back  to  his  country  and  tramped 
the  streets  of  his  native  city  wearing  his  white 
wig,  no  one  recognized  him.  But  a  musician 
who  had  been  in  Italy  said:  "He  is  a  maes- 
tro/' 

Instantly  Jubal  felt  as  if  he  were  a  great 
composer.  He  bought  music  paper  and  began 
writing  a  score,  that  is  to  say,  he  jotted  down  a 
lot  of  long  and  short  notes,  on  lines — some  for 
violins,  others  for  reed  instruments,  the  rest 

245 


EASTER  AND  STORIES 


for  brass.  Then  he  sent  the  stuff  in  to  the  con- 
servatory. But  no  one  could  play  it,  for  it  was 
nothing — only  notes. 

One  day  he  was  out  walking  and  met  a 
painter,  who  had  been  in  Paris.  ''There  goes 
a  model,"  said  the  painter.  Jubal  heard  it,  and 
he  believed  at  once  that  he  was  a  model,  for  he 
believed  everything  one  said  of  him,  as  he  did 
not  know  who  or  what  he  was. 

Then,  when  he  recalled  to  memory  his  wife, 
who  had  got  his  ego,  he  made  up  his  mind  to 
search  for  her.  And  he  did,  too !  But  she  had 
gone  off  and  married  a  Baron,  and  had  traveled 
far  away. 

At  last  he  grew  weary  of  the  search  and,  like 
all  weary  men,  he  began  to  long  for  the  cause 
of  his  existence — his  mother.  He  knew  that  she 
was  a  widow,  and  lived  in  a  ramshackle  cabin 
up  in  the  mountains :  and  thither  he  went. 

"Don't  you  know  me  I"  asked  he. 

''What  is  your  name?"  demanded  the 
mother. 

"Your  son's  name — don't  you  know  it?" 

"My  son  was  named  Klang,  but  your  name  is 
Jubal,  and  him  I  do  not  know. ' ' 

246 


JUBAL  SANS  EGO 


"She  denies  me!" 

''As  you  denied  yourself,  and  your  mother !" 

"Why  did  you  take  my  will  from  me  when  I 
was  a  child?" 

"You  gave  your  will  to  a  woman." 

"I  had  to,  otherwise  I  would  never  have 
gotten  her.  But  why  did  you  say  that  I  didn't 
have  any  will ! ' ' 

"Why,  that  was  father's  notion,  my  child; 
he  knew  no  better.  Forgive  him  now,  for  he  is 
dead.  For  that  matter,  children  shouldn't  have 
any  will,  but  grown-up  men  should." 

"Fancy!  how  could  you  smooth  that  out  so 
well,  mother?  Children  mustn't  have  it,  but 
grown-ups  must  have  it. ' ' 

"Listen,  Gustaf !"  said  the  mother;  "Gustaf 
Klang— " 

These  were  his  two  names,  and  when  he  heard 
them,  he  was  himself  again.  All  roles — kings 
and  demons,  maestros  and  models — vanished, 
and  he  was  just  his  mother's  son. 

Then  he  buried  his  head  in  her  lap  and 
sobbed : 

' '  Now  I  want  to  die !    I  want  to  die ! ' ' 


247 


BLUE  WING  FINDS  THE  GOLD  POWDER 


BLUE  WING  FINDS  THE  GOLD  POWDER 

The  rich  man  once  paid  a  visit  to  the  poor 
island,  and  fell  in  love  with  it.  Why,  the  rich 
man  could  not  tell;  but  he  was  enchanted  with 
it.  Possibly  the  place  recalled  some  half-for- 
gotten memory  of  childhood,  or  a  beautiful 
dream. 

He  bought  the  island,  built  him  a  villa  and 
planted  all  kinds  of  fine  trees,  bushes  and  flow- 
ers. The  sea  lay  beyond  it,  and  he  had  his  own 
private  landing,  with  a  flag-staff  and  white 
boats.  Oaks  as  tall  as  cathedrals  shaded  his 
house,  and  fresh  winds  swept  over  green 
meadows.  He  had  a  wife  and  children;  serv- 
ants and  horses.  He  had  everything.  Yet  one 
thing  was  wanting:  it  was  a  little  thing,  but  the 
most  important  of  all,  and  this  he  had  forgotten 
to  think  of — it  was  spring  water.  They  dug 
wells  there  and  blasted  rock,  but  only  brownish 
salt  water  came.     It  was  filtered,  became  as 

251 


EASTER  AND  STORIES 


clear  as  crystal,  but  remained  salty.  Herein 
lay  the  tragedy! 

In  those  times  there  came  a  man  blessed  of 
God,  who  had  succeeded  in  all  his  undertakings, 
and  was  one  of  the  most  famous  men  in  the 
world.  We  are  told  how  he  struck  his  diamond 
staff  into  the  rock  and,  like  Moses,  made  the 
rock  send  forth  water.  Now  they  were  to  bore 
with  a  diamond  drill,  as  they  had  bored  in  rocks 
elsewhere,  and  got  water  from  all.  They  bored 
here  for  a  hundred  riksdaler,  for  a  thousand, 
for  several  thousand — but  only  salt  water  came. 
Here  there  was  obviously  no  blessing!  And 
the  rich  man  carefully  noted  that  one  does  not 
get  all  things  for  money — not  even  a  drink  of 
fresh  water,  when  luck's  against  one. 

Then  he  became  discouraged,  and  life  no 
longer  smiled.  The  schoolmaster  on  the  island, 
in  the  meanwhile,  began  to  pore  over  old  books, 
and  sent  for  a  wise  old  man  who  went  about  with 
a  divining-rod;  but  this  didn't  help  matters. 

Then  the  priest,  who  was  even  wiser,  one  day 
called  the  school  children  together  and  prom- 
ised a  reward  to  the  one  who  could  find  an  herb, 

252 


BLUE  WING  FINDS  THE  POWDER 

called  Gold  Powder,  which  showed  jou  where 
there  were  water-veins. 

"It  has  flowers  like  Lady's-Mantle  and  leaves 
like  Almond  blossoms,  and  is  also  called  Golden 
Saxifrage.  And  it  looks  as  if  it  had  gold  dust 
on  the  outer  leaves.     Now,  remember ! ' ' 

"Flowers  like  Lady's-Mantle  and  leaves  like 
Almond  blossoms,"  repeated  the  children. 
Then  they  ran  into  the  woods  and  over  the 
plains  to  search  for  the  Gold  Powder. 

None  of  the  children  found  it.  A  little  boy 
actually  came  home  with  Fox  Bane,  which  has 
a  little  gold  on  the  top.  But  it  is  poisonous, 
and  it  was  not  the  right  one.  Finally  they  grew 
weary  of  the  search. 

But  there  was  a  little  girl,  who  did  not  as  yet 
go  to  school.  Her  father  was  a  dragoon,  owned 
a  little  croft,  and  was  more  poor  than  rich.  His 
only  treasure  was  the  little  daughter,  and  in  the 
village  she  was  called  by  the  pretty  name  of 
Blue  Wing,  because  she  always  wore  a  sky-blue 
jacket,  with  wide  sleeves,  that  flapped  when  she 
moved.  Blue-wing,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  is  a 
little  blue  butterfly,  which  is  seen  on  the  grass 

253 


EASTER  AND  STORIES 


blades  in  the  height  of  summer.  And  its  wings 
resemble  the  petals  of  the  corn-flower — a  flying 
corn-flower  with  feelers,  where  the  stamens  sit. 

Blue  Wing — the  dragoon's  Blue  Wing — was 
an  unusual  child,  who  talked  so  sensibly,  but  so 
strangely  that  no  one  knew  where  her  words 
came  from. 

All  people  and  animals  too  liked  her.  Chick- 
ens and  calves  followed  her,  and  she  dared  to 
pat  even  the  bull.  She  frequently  went  out 
alone,  stayed  away  and  came  back  again.  But 
when  they  asked  where  she  had  been,  she  could 
not  tell;  yet  she  had  so  much  to  relate.  She 
had  seen  uncommon  things,  and  had  met  both 
old  men  and  great  ladies,  who  had  said  this  and 
that.  The  dragoon  let  her  run  on,  for  he  sur- 
mised that  there  was  someone  who  guarded 
her. 

One  morning  Blue  Wing  went  off  on  a  tramp. 
Through  meadows  and  groves  she  directed  her 
nimble  feet,  singing  to  herself — mostly  songs 
no  one  had  ever  heard  before,  but  which  came  to 
her.  The  morning-  sun  shone  as  young  as  if  it 
were  newly  born;  the  air  felt  strong  and  wide 

254 


BLUE  WING  FINDS  THE  POWDER 

awake;  the  dew  rose,  and  its  healthy  moisture 
cooled  the  little  face. 

As  she  entered  the  forest  she  met  a  green- 
clad  man. 

''Good  day,  Blue  Wing,"  said  the  old  man. 
''I'm  the  gardener  at  Sungleam.  Come  with 
me  and  you  shall  see  my  flowers." 

"Too  great  an  honor  for  me!"  replied  Blue 
Wing. 

"No  indeed!  for  you  have  never  tortured 
plants. ' ' 

Then  they  walked  along  together  and  came  to 
the  strand.  Here  there  was  a  pretty  little 
bridge  which  led  to  an  island,  and  thither  they 
went. 

That  was  a  garden!  In  it  there  was  every- 
thing— big  and  little,  and  it  was  planned  like  a 
book! 

He  himself  lived  in  a  house  built  of  growing 
ever-green  trees — pine,  spruce,  juniper — 
dressed  in  their  foliage.  The  floors  were  made 
of  growing  ever-green  bushes  and  herbs.  Moss 
and  lichen  grew  in  the  cracks  in  the  floor,  to 
keep  the  water  out.  Crow-berry,  bear-berry 
and  twin-flower  made  up  the  boards.     The  ceil- 

255 


EASTER  AND  STORIES 


ing  consisted  of  maiden-liair  fern,  honeysuckle, 
clematis  and  ivy.  It  was  so  thick  that  not  a 
drop  of  rain  came  through.  Outside  the  door 
stood  bee-hives,  but,  in  place  of  bees,  butterflies 
lived  there,  and  when  they  swarmed  out,  it  was 
a  vision! 

**I  do  not  like  to  torture  bees,"  said  the  old 
man,  ''and,  besides,  they  are  so  ugly!  Why, 
they  look  like  hairy^  coffee  beans,  and  they  sting 
too,  like  adders." 

Then  they  went  out  into  the  garden. 

"Now  you  shall  read  in  Nature's  A-B-C 
book.  You  shall  learn  the  secrets  of  flowers 
and  make  the  acquaintance  of  herbs;  but  you 
must  not  question — only  listen  and  answer. 
See,  child !  on  this  gray  stone  grows  something 
which  looks  like  gray  paper.  It  is  the  first 
thing  that  appears  when  the  mountain  gets  wet. 
The  rock  moulds;  the  mould  is  called  lichen. 
Here  we  have  two  kinds:  one  resembles  the 
reindeer's  antlers,  and  is  also  called  reindeer 
moss.  It  is  the  reindeer's  principal  food.  The 
other  is  called  Iceland  lichen,  and  resembles — 
what  does  it  resemble?" 

256 


BLUE  WING  FINDS  THE  POWDER 

"It  resembles  a  lung,  for  it  says  so  in  the 
natural  science  book." 

"Yes,  under  a  magnifying  glass  it  is  like  tlie 
air-passages  in  the  lung,  and  from  that  peo- 
ple learned  to  use  it  in  lung  diseases,  you  see. 
Now,  when  the  mountain  lichen  has  gathered 
soil,  the  moss  comes.  This  has  a  species  of 
flower  that  is  simpler,  and  sows  seeds.  This 
resembles  ice-fern,  but  you  will  see  that  it  is 
also  like  heather  and  fir-trees  and  everything, 
for  all  growths  are  related.  This  feather-moss 
resembles  the  pine,  but  it  has  seed-vessels  like 
the  poppy,  though  simpler.  With  the  moss  the 
heather  will  soon  be  growing.  If  you  look  now 
at  the  heather  through  a  powerful  magnifying 
glass,  it  becomes  a  milk-weed — epilobium,  in 
Latin,  or  a  rhododendron — exactly  like  the 
elder.  The  soil-carpet  is  now  ready,  and  in  the 
food-earth  everything  grows.  Mankind,  for 
their  uses,  have  appropriated  a  good  many 
growths,  and  Nature  herself  has  taught  them 
which  ones  they  must  take,  and  how  they  should 
be  used.  This  is  not  more  remarkable  than  the 
adornments  and  colors  that  have  been  bestowed 

257 


EASTER  AND  STORIES 


upon  the  flowers,  to  let  the  insects  know  where 
the  honey  is.  Look  at  the  flax,  the  most  useful 
of  all  growths — for  the  flax  itself  taught  people 
how  to  spin.  Only  peep  into  the  flower  and 
you  '11  find  the  flax-head  where  the  threads  wind 
themselves  around  the  bobbin,  which  whirls 
round  the  spindle. 

''In  order  to  express  herself  more  clearly,  Na- 
ture let  a  little  parasite  wind  itself  around  the 
whole  plant,  up  and  down  and  back  and  forth, 
like  the  loom.  Strange  that  it  was  not  a  human 
being,  but  a  butterfly  that  first  discovered  that 
flax  could  be  spun.  Her  name  is  Flax-Tucker, 
and  from  the  leaves  she  spins,  with  her  own 
silk,  little  cradle-quilts  and  sheets  for  her  chil- 
dren. After  the  flax  once  starts  growing,  she 
is  wise  and  makes  the  most  of  her  time,  so  that 
her  little  ones  will  be  ready  to  fly  before  the 
flax  is  picked. 

"And  in  the  medicinal  herbs  you  may  believe. 
Look  at  this  big  poppy — flame-red  as  fever  and 
madness !  But  in  the  heart  of  the  flower  is  a 
black  cross.  That  is  the  apothecary's  poison 
label.  And  in  the  centre  of  the  cross  there  is  a 
fluted  Roman  vase.     If  you  rip  these  flutes,  the 

258 


BLUE  WING  FINDS  THE  POWDER 

healing  fluid,  which  can  cause  death  if  wrongly 
used,  runs  out ;  but  it  can  give  you  Death's  good 
brother.  Sleep,  when  used  rightly. — Yes,  so  wise 
and  open-hearted  is  Nature !  But  now  we  will 
take  a  look  at  the  Gold  Powder." 

Here  he  made  a  pause  to  see  if  Blue  Wing 
was  curious ;  but  she  was  not. 

"Now  we  shall  look  at  the  Gold  Powder." 

Another  pause!  No,  Blue  Wing  could  hold 
her  tongue,  although  she  was  so  little. 

^'Noiv  we'll  look  at  the  Gold  Powder  with  the 
lady's-mantle-flowers  and  the  saxifrage-leaves. 
These  are  her  distinguishing  features,  which 
tell  you  where  the  spring  is.  The  Lady's-Man- 
tle  gathers  both  dew  and  water  in  its  leaves, 
and  in  itself  is  a  little  clear  spring;  but  the 
Saxifrage  blasts  rock.^  Without  mountains 
you  get  no  springs — the  mountains  can  be  any 
distance  away.  This  the  Gold  Powder  says  to 
those  who  understand.  She  grows  here  on  the 
island,  and  you  shall  know  the  place,  because 
you  are  good.  From  your  little  hand  shall  the 
rich  man  receive  the  fresh  water  for  his  dry 

1  Saxifrage — Latin  Saxum,  stone;  frango,  break;  the  place  to 
break  into  rock  for  water. 

259 


EASTER  AND  STORIES 


soul,  and  tlirough  you  shall  this  island  be 
blessed.  Peace  be  with  you,  my  child !  AVhen 
you  come  into  the  nut-forest,  you'll  find  a  silver 
linden  to  the  right;  under  it  lies  a  copperhead 
snake  that  isn't  dangerous.  He  will  show  you 
the  way  to  the  Gold  Powder.  Before  you  go, 
you  must  give  the  old  man  a  kiss — but  not  un- 
less you  wish  to  do  so  yourself." 

Blue  Wing  pursed  up  her  little  mouth  and 
kissed  him.  Then  the  old  man's  countenance 
was  transformed,  and  he  stood  there — fifty 
years  younger ! 

''I  have  kissed  a  child  and  youth  has  come 
back  to  me ! ' '  said  the  gardener,  ' '  and  you  owe 
me  no  thanks.     Farewell!" 

Blue  Wing  went  into  the  nut-forest.  There 
the  silver-lindens  played  and  the  humming- 
birds sang  to  their  accompaniment,  in  the  lin- 
den-blossoms. The  copperhead  snake  lay  there, 
sure  enough !  but  it  looked  a  bit  rusty. 

"Why,  there's  Blue  Wing,  who  is  to  have  the 
Gold  Powder!"  said  the  copperhead  snake. 
''You  shall  have  it,  but  only  on  three  conditions : 
— Don't   gossip;   don't   deceive;   and  don't  be 

260 


BLUE  WING  FINDS  THE  POWDER 

curious!    Now  go   straight  ahead,  and  you'll 
find  the  Gold  Powder." 

Blue  Wing  went  straight  ahead.  Soon  she 
met  a  lady. 

' '  Good  day ! ' '  said  the  lady.  ' '  Have  you  been 
at  the  gardener's  in  Sungieam!" 

''Good  day,"  answered  Blue  Wing,  and 
walked  on. 

"You  do  not  gossip,  at  all  events,"  said  the 
lady. 

Then  she  met  a  gipsy. 

"Where  are  you  going  to?"  asked  the  gipsy. 

"I'm  going  straight  ahead,"  replied  Blue 
Wing. 

"And  you  don't  deceive,"  said  the  gipsy. 

And  then  she  met  a  milk  carrier.  But  she 
couldn't  understand  why  the  horse  sat  in  the 
wagon  and  the  milkman  was  harnessed  to  the 
shafts. 

"Now  I'll  shy,"  said  the  driver,  and  started 
running  so  that  the  horse  fell  into  the  ditch. 
"Now  I'll  water  the  rye,"  said  the  driver,  tak- 
ing the  cover  off  a  milk  bottle  to  sprinkle  the 
field. 

261 


EASTER  AND  STORIES 


Blue  Wing  must  have  thought  it  queer,  yet 
she  did  not  glance  in  that  direction,  but  walked 
on. 

''Nor  are  you  curious,"  said  the  milk  car- 
rier. 

And  now  Blue  Wing  stood  at  the  foot  of 
a  mountain.  The  sun  shone  in  between  the 
hazel  bushes  on  a  green  row  of  juicy  herbs, 
that  glittered  like  the  purest  gold. 

Here  was  the  Gold  Powder !  And  Blue  Wing 
saw  how  it  followed  the  water-veins  from  the 
mountain  down  to  the  rich  man's  meadow. 

Then  she  got  down  on  her  hands  and  knees 
and  plucked  three  Gold  Powders,  which  she  hid 
in  her  pinafore.  With  these  she  went  home  to 
her  father. 

The  dragoon  donned  his  cloak,  his  helmet  and 
his  sabre.  Then  they  went  to  the  priest. 
Later,  all  three  went  together  to  the  rich  man. 

"Blue  Wing  has  found  the  Gold  Powder!" 
said  the  priest  when  he  reached  the  dining-hall 
door.  "And  now  we  are  all  rich!  The  whole 
village  is  rich,  for  we  shall  have  a  bathing 
resort." 

And  it  became  a  bathing  resort.  Steamers 
262 


BLUE  WING  FINDS  THE  POWDER 

and  mercliaiits  came;  there  were  a  liotel  and  a 
post  office,  doctors  and  apothecaries.  Gold 
poured  into  the  village  in  summer.  And  this  is 
the  story  of  the  Gold  Powder,  that  could  make 
gold. 


263 


STEWART  &  KIDD  COMPANY,  PUBLISHERS 
Most    Important    Biography    of    Years 

GEORGE  BERNARD  SHAW: 

His  Life  and  Works. 

A  Critical  Biography.     (Authorized.) 
By  Archibald  Henderson,  M.  A.,  Ph.  D. 

With  two  plates  in  color  {one,  the  frontispiece,  from 
an  autochrome  hy  Alvin  Langdon  Coburn,  the  other 
from  a  water  color  hy  Bernard  Partridge)  two  photo- 
gravures, 26  plates  on  art  paper,  and  numerous  illus- 
trations in  the  text. 

In  one  volume,  demy  8vo.     Cloth  and  gilt  top. 

Net,  $5.00 

This  remarkable  book,  upon  which  the  author  has 
been  at  work  for  more  than  six  years,  is  the  authentic 
biography  of  the  great  Irish  dramatist  and  socialist. 
In  order  to  give  it  the  authority  which  any  true  biog- 
raphy of  a  living  man  must  possess,  Mr.  Shaw  has 
aided  the  author  in  every  possible  way.  The  book 
is  based  not  only  on  the  voluminous  mass  of  I\Ir. 
Shaw's  works,  published,  uncollected  in  book  form  or 
unpublished,  but  also  on  extensive  data  furnished  the 
author  by  Mr.  Shaw  in  person. 

A  masterly  and  monumental  volume,  it  is  a  history 
of  Art,  Music,  Literature,  Drama,  Sociology,  Phi- 
losophy, and  the  general  development  of  the  Ibsen- 
Nietzschean  Movement  in  Morals  for  the  last  thirty 
years.  The  Press  are  unanimous  in  their  praise  of 
this  wonderful  work. 

The  Dial:     "In  over  five  hundred  pages,  with  an  en- 
ergy and  carefulness  and  sympathy  which  deserve 

265 


STEWART  &  KIDD  COMPANY,  PUBLISHERS 

high  commendation,  Dr.  Henderson  has  presented 
his  subject  from  all  conceivable  angles." 

The  Bookman:  "A  more  entertaining  narrative 
whether  in  biography  or  fiction  has  not  appeared  in 
recent  years." 

The  Independent :  "Whatever  George  Bernard  Shaw 
may  think  of  his  Biography  the  rest  of  the  world 
will  probably  agree  that  Dr.  Henderson  has  done  a 
good  job. ' ' 

Boston  Herald:    "This  is  probably  the  most  inform- 
ing and  satisfactory  biography  of  this  very  difficult , 
man  that  has  been  written.     A  thoroughly  pains- 
taking work. ' ' 

Boston  Transcript:  "There  is  no  exaggeration  in 
saying  it  is  one  of  the  most  entertaining  biographies 
of  these  opening  years  of  the  Twentieth  Century. ' ' 

The  North  Carolina  Review:  "The  Biography  is  in- 
teresting and  there  is  abundant  evidence  that  it  is 
painstakingly  discriminating  and  thorough." 

Chicago  Tribune:  "Dr.  Henderson  has  left  nothing 
for  a  future  biographer  of  Shaw  to  say.  He  has 
covered  the  field  and  covered  it  exceedingly  well. ' ' 

Pittshurgh  Dispatch:  "George  Bernard  Shaw  is  here 
revealed  in  intimate  association  with  the  most  note- 
worthy movements  in  Art,  Music,  Literature,  Criti- 
cism, Sociology  and  Philosophy,  of  the  closing  quar- 
ter of  the  Nineteenth  and  the  opening  decade  of  the 
Twentieth  Centuries. ' ' 

Chicago  Record-Herald:  "Prof.  Henderson  has  writ- 
ten a  genuinely  excellent  Biography,  bright,  limpid 
in  style,  mildly  critical  in  tone,  penetrating  in 
thought." 


266 


STEWART  &  KIDD  COMPANY,  PUBLISHERS 


A  GREAT  STRTNDBERG  PLAY 

Translated  by  Velma  Swanston  Howard,  and 
authorized. 
Lucky  Pehr. 

From  the  Swedish  of  August  Strindherg.  Translated 
by  Velma  Swanston  Howard.  A  drama  in  five  acts. 
It  is  to  Sweden  what  Rip  Van  Winkle  is  to  America. 
LUCKY  PEHR  might  well  be  classed  with  Maeter- 
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Shakespeare's  "Midsummer  Night's  Dream." 

Photogravure  frontispiece  of  Strindherg  etched  hy 
Zorn.  Also,  a  reproduction  of  Velma  Swanston 
Howard's  authorization.  Net,  $1.50 

Other  Important  Books 

Mind  Cure  and  Other  Essays. 
By  Philip  Zenner,  M.  D. 

This  is  Dr.  Zenner 's  new  book.  It  deals  with  vital 
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The  book  will  interest  everybody.  Dr.  Charles  Fred- 
eric Goss  says  of  these  essays :  ' '  They  touch  upon  the 
most  vital  things  of  life.  In  every  quality  which  I 
think  to  be  of  value  they  excel." 
12mo.     Handsomely  hound.  Net,  $1.25 

The  Soul  and  Sex  in  Education.     Basic  Principles 
for  Parents  and  Teachers. 
By  Dr.  J.  D.  Buck. 

Basic  principles  for  parents  and  teachers.  The  whole 
question  of  sex  seems  to  have  been  in  confusion  since 

267 


STEWART  &  KIDD  COMPANY,  PUBLISHERS 

the  beginning  of  time.  The  cause  of  this  confusion 
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a  clean  character  can  alone  be  built.  It  should  be  as 
helpful  to  the  adult  as  in  the  education  of  the  child. 
It  is  based  upon  many  years  of  careful  study  and 
the  best  possible  opportunity  for  observation  and, 
therefore,  deals  wdth  facts  rather  than  theories.  The 
book  should  be  in  the  hands  of  every  teacher  of  the 
young,  no  less  than  of  every  parent. 

Frontispiece.    12mo.    Silk  cloth.  Net,  $1.25 


The  Hamlet  Problem  and  its  Solution. 

By  Emerson  Venable,  Author  of  '"Poets  of  Ohio." 
In  this  volume  the  author  advances  a  new  and  revo- 
lutionary theory  which  affords  an  adequate  solution 
to  a  baffling  literary  problem  of  world-wide  interest. 

12mo.     Randsomely  hound.  Net,  $1.00 


How  to  Grow  100  Bushels  of  Corn  per  Acre  on 
Worn  Soil. 

By  Wm.  C.  Smith,  of  Indiana. 

A  most  useful  and  interesting  book.  The  author  is  a 
practical  farmer,  and  in  a  practical  way  makes  the 
conservation  of  soil  plain.  The  growing  efficiency  of 
the  Government  agriculture  department  and  agricul- 
tural schools  in  recent  years  has  added  greatly  to  the 
knowledge  possessed  by  the  farmers  of  the  methods 
best  suited  to  increase  their  crops.  This  volume  as 
the  title  suggests,  wall  prove  of  inestimable  value,  and 
if  its  teachings  are  followed  by  the  farmers  through- 
268 


STEWART  &  KIDD  COMPANY,  PUBLISHERS 

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Twenty-four  full  page  illustrations.  12mo.  Silk 
doth.  Net,  $1.25 


Practical  Orcharding  on  Rough  Lands. 

By  Shepard  Wells  IMoore,  Practical  Horticulturist. 
A  practical  book,  elaborately  illustrated,  containing 
chapters  on  Orcharding  as  a  Business,  Location, 
Drainage,  The  Aspect,  Windbreaks,  Preparation  of 
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Marketing. 

Forty-eight  illustrations.     12mo.     Cloth.      Net,  $1.50 


Bird  Studies  for  Home  and  School. 

By  Herman  C.  DeGroat,  M.  A. 

Sixty  common  birds,  their  habits  and  haunts.     Forty 

full  page  colored  illustrations. 

Large  8vo.    Handsomely  illustrated.  Net,  $2.00 


269 


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